Lost: The 21st Hunger Games
by kopycat101
Summary: The Head Gamemaker and President strive for an even better Hunger Games this year that would surpass the last. But will the Tributes be as receptive to this amazing Arena, or will they lose themselves amongst the confusing labyrinth, stuck amongst its depths? (SYOT. CLOSED.)
1. Prologue: The 20th Victor

**AN**: So I finally broke down and decided to make an SYOT, after 3 years of wanting to create one. I've been particularly itching to write one in the past few months, which manifested me in submitting tributes to a crapload of SYOTS.

Anyways. Winter break is in a week, and it's the longest span of time I'll have to write this thing, other than summer break. So _by next week, I hope to have enough tributes to start this thing_.

Anyways, here's a prologue to show my writing style, and setting up for this fic.

**Edit**: Hohohoooooly shit, I got flooded with forms in just 3 days, submissions CLOSED unless I pm someone for an exception

* * *

Prologue: The 20th Victor

**Marcus 'Tact' Gnaeus, Victor of the 1****st**** Annual Hunger Games, D2**

He was supposed to be retired. He shouldn't be dragged to the Capitol any more.

But The Capitol just didn't seem to understand that. They didn't seem to catch on to the distinct fact that he no longer wanted to be dragged out of his hole of self-loathing and mental torture.

And Marcus wasn't exactly the most tactful of people. It was the 'kinder' reason why his nickname was Tact. (The other being that he was called that by fellow war veterans in his District, for his tactical plans.)

But then again, perhaps the Capitolites didn't seem to get the message because he was the most stiff and respectful Victor to the Capitol. Habits were hard to break, after all. In his youth, he was a child soldier, fighting against the Rebels. When he was 18, he became the first Victor of the Hunger Games, doing everything for the Capitol, loved and adored by them.

Perhaps this is part of his everlasting punishment for his sins. Even when District 2 held three Victors—held another to take his place in Mentoring for the rest of his miserable life—he was still dragged back to the Capitol.

Perhaps that's what would happen, every time the Hunger Games held an anniversary. For now, it's for two decades. Next, it will be for two dozen. Then the 25th. Then for three decades. And on and on it'll go. Until the day he dies.

There's no escaping for him. That option was long lost to him, ever since he was Reaped.

No, even before that. When he illegally enlisted himself, all those years ago. When he fought and killed and rose up the ranks quickly. That had captured the interest of President White, enough to have his name rigged into the bowl, so he could kill the Rebel Tributes in the Arena. That's what damned him.

But Marcus found time to slip away from the bustle and interviews and constant attention from the Capitol. He ended up inside Victor Sirona's room—the woman who won the Games the year after him—and comforted her over her Tributes' deaths.

They comforted each other, held each other, lying on her bed. They always held a very strong relationship, a concrete understanding. They were the first two Victors, and the only ones who couldn't properly move on from their sins—until Red won the 7th Annual Hunger Games. But even by then, Marcus and Sirona were inseparable companions.

Just companions. They held no romantic inclinations towards one another, too hollow to love.

The two woke up at some vaguely proper hour in the morning, and went down together to check up on the other Victors. The Victors held their own special floor, where they could stay to monitor the Games and their Tributes. It held a manned bar that served alcohol and strong coffee, and a kitchen that produced any convenient meal they desired.

No one questioned Marcus' presence, when he entered alongside Sirona, despite his retired status. They all knew he was dragged here to the Capitol, constantly bombarded with interviews.

The majority of the Victors in the room watched the screens projecting the Games in silence. It seems like they were nearing the end—only three kids left. The Career boy from 1, the girl from 9, and the young boy from 10. This year, either Niveus or Buddy will finally gain a fellow Victor so they won't be alone. That, or Angel and Mediah's efforts on the intense training they offered District 1 children will finally bear fruit.

They watched as the Career boy finally found the young, sludge-covered boy hiding in a section of the swamp. A chase soon ensued, where the younger boy expertly weaved around the dangers of the swamp. However, the older boy had grander stamina, and was gaining.

Then the younger boy finally veered out into the more obviously dangerous part of the Arena—the area of erupting geysers. But the 10 boy miscalculated—and stepped right onto a geyser that barely erupted under his feet.

Buddy cried out loudly in dismay, staring horrified at the large screens. Some of the others patted the lone Victor from 10 on the back, murmuring condolences.

Marcus' eyes narrowed, however, as he kept watching the geysers.

"He's alive," he stated. "There wasn't a cannon."

"But no one could survive that!" Woof exclaimed; as always, he held no filter when he spoke.

"No, Marcus is right," Niveus spoke, eyes narrowed suspiciously, as he finally took his gaze off of his Tribute's progress. "See that shadow, down there?" he said, jabbing a long finger at a small mass by the base of the geyser that had seemingly killed the young 10 boy.

"Oh my Lord," Buddy uttered, looking torn, as if he didn't know what to feel on his Tribute barely surviving the boiling-hot geyser.

"He won't last long, though," Red spoke up quietly. "I assume that he's barely alive."

"Red's right…The injuries the poor boy would've sustained…He's barely holding on," Sirona inputted, staring at pity at the screen.

Everyone's attention—minus Buddy and a morbidly curious Marcus— then shifted away from the young 10 boy, who would likely die from the pain soon. The room stared at the confrontation that the 1 boy and 9 girl were about to have.

"This'll be our year…!" Angel chimed giddily, a large, excitable smile on her face.

"He's been one of our few fully-trained students that we've had," her husband and fellow Victor, Mediah, said. He rubbed calming circles on her back with one hand.

Oddly enough, despite her weaker state and build, the girl caught the boy off-guard. She threw a canister of swamp gunk at his eyes, and then pounced when he was distracted. Smart. After a large struggle, she managed to finally slit his throat.

But no announcement came.

The young boy had survived, just as Marcus had stated.

Niveus and Buddy stared enraptured at the screens, tense. Buddy, over the probable death of his poor, suffering Tribute. Niveus, over the almost miraculous event of being able to save someone, despite all the blood on his hands.

The girl trekked slowly through the plateaus, wary. As she neared the geysers, something unexpected happened—at least, unexpected to the girl, and all those who hadn't been watching for the other boy.

From a small niche in the geyser-spewing plateau, jumped out a small figure, right behind her. It was the boy who had stepped on the geyser earlier. His entire body was gruesomely twisted and burned.

The boy lunged at the girl, whose back was turned. He stabbed her with a sharpened rock, and using the momentum, shoved her into an awaiting geyser.

The entire room was tense and dead-silent, the only sound coming from the broadcast, in the form of a loud boom of a canon.

"With an **incredible** finale, Tazmithius Emerald is the Victor of the 20th Annual Hunger Games!" crowed the announcer.

"Holy **shit**, that was unexpected," Woof commented in an awed whisper.

"Victor…Taz… He survived… I finally…Almost two decades…" Buddy muttered, shocked and incoherent. Marcus didn't blame him—he had felt a similar way when Riyo finally won the 14th Games, and he wasn't alone any longer as the lone Victor from District 2.

The entire room watched as the hovercraft gently lifted the newest Victor, who was smiling like a loon. Marcus noted that it looked nightmarish, considering how his entire face was black and red and twisted.

The broadcast kept rolling, instead of cutting off, like expected. The 20th Victor told the attendants in the hovercraft he wanted to keep some semi-healed scars on his body, maybe on his arms and legs. He said this with a polite please and thank you, and even a bright smile that stretching his cracking skin, to boot.

Then the boy's vibrant green eyes rolled to the back of his head. The adrenaline most likely ran its course, and he finally passed out from his injuries. Those on the craft were frantic, trying to get the burned boy on a gurney and shipped to an emergency room.

The broadcast ended with the doors of the large emergency room on the hovercraft shutting, cutting off the frantic orders of the doctors and surgeons inside.

Buddy stood abruptly, eyes glazed, mouth agape, his entire being quivering.

"Go to him. See if he's getting the proper treatment," Red stated, voice logical and sympathetic, as he took the usually sunny man by the shoulders and gently led him towards the door.

Halfway to the door, Buddy finally snapped out of his reverie. "Taz!" he exclaimed, as he bolted out towards the elevator in a frenzy.

The tenseness shattered, and the Victors finally went around, talking amongst themselves. Red and Sirona put their heads together, talking over Taz's injuries, trying to think of how the Capitol doctors would treat him. Those that created the training academies and cemented the still-recent phenomena of Careers grouped together—minus Mags and Marcus, who both went to give emotional support to Niveus.

After all, Niveus went a decade working by himself, and just had the opportunity of a partner yanked from him. District 9 had rarely had any Tributes reach the finale, even including himself into the statistics.

There was also the fact that Marcus felt him and Niveus to be very similar. They both became absolute monsters, never forgetting their sins, always wallowing in their destructive thoughts in near isolation.

But before he went and spoke with the devastated man, Marcus noted that amongst all the discussion stood the previous year's winner, alone, staring at the exit.

"I guess I've finally got someone younger than me around here, for next year," Homini Laridge, Victor of the 19th Annual Hunger Games, noted. She gave a small grin. "Congrats, kid. You're the 20th Victor."

Marcus wasn't sure if he would be congratulating Taz as well. But he **did** commend the boy for keeping a physical reminder of his time in the Arena, of the horrors he underwent.

So, he supposes… Congratulations for being the 20th Victor, Tazmithius Emerald.


	2. Prologue: Newbie (plus Tribute List)

**AN**: _We have our official Tribute list_! SO EXCITING, GUYS

I had to be annoying and prod some people to get their forms in, who had reserved spots, but...Wow, I never imagined to get a full roster in less than a week! 2 and 1/2 days to get a flood of submissions/reservations. Yeesh, that was awesome.

So I know most of you are going to scroll down to the list, but I hope you at least look this chapter over, because it introduces _Gamemakers_. Probably not as cool as other Gamemakers in other stories, but still. They're my little brain babies :D

* * *

Prologue: Newbie

* * *

**Jayel Valiance, 24, Gamemaker**

A blue-haired woman paced back and forth in front of the crisply-cut, glass doors of one of the Gamemakers Meeting Rooms.

She was nervous; it was plain to see, in her dumpy frame, full of spastic energy. Her rounded face wasn't its usual blank calmness, and her eyes continuously flickered to the cold, imposing doors.

The youthful woman was used to glass doors, having worked as a technician for the Hunger Games, always passing through the entrance of the Launch Room. However, this particular set of doors she was pacing in front of was always barred from her, before today.

Jayel Valiance was a Gamemaker. She went from intern, to secretary, then assistant, then technician, to finally Head Technician.

And now, she was bumped up into the role of Gamemaker.

Finally, she had a chance to have her ideas realized, a seat on the Board. Finally, she held an important, interesting, well-paying role. And she managed to get here at 24 years old, one of the youngest Gamemakers so far.

However, it was her first day, and she was a bundle of nerves. And Jayel never had the greatest confidence when she was a bundle of nerves.

The woman suddenly stopped, her polished boots squeaking suddenly and obnoxiously on the shining tile. With a deep breath, she steeled herself, firmly turning to face the looming doors. She strode forwards to grip the metal handle—

And promptly yelped, at the sudden shock she felt.

"Damn you, static electricity!" she hissed angrily under her breath, her left eye twitching. She never liked touching metal objects suddenly, especially door handles, because of static—and she was proven right to dislike it so vehemently.

Taking a tentative grip on the handle once more, Jayel pulled the door towards her, stepping inside.

The room seemed like it had an even higher ceiling than the hallway. Which made no sense, especially if one considered the building's floor layout. It held an impressive, intricate pattern of glasswork, grand chandeliers blooming and dripping from above as if the crystals were snowflakes.

Inside, dominating the room itself, was a polished oval table of solid varnished oak. Placed around said table were various luxurious, plush leather chairs that looked to cost more than what she made a year altogether. Also, Jayel noted that the room was covered in tacky paintings and plotted plants and old vases; generally, with things that looked liable to break at merely a glance.

For just a Meeting Room, it was extravagant and unnecessary. The woman actually considered that it would be plainer. Really, what use were the portraits and exotic ferns in the room, anyways? Move those to a foyer or something.

_Millionaires_.

The woman blinked her golden eyes, her attention zoning back into the issue at hand—her fellow Gamemakers. Her fellow coworkers now, lest she get kicked off the Gamemakers Committee somehow…

Her eyes snapped quickly to the most well-known person there. At the head of the large oval table sat an old, wizened man, in his early seventies.

The Head Gamemaker, Krius Takami.

The only Gamemaker from the original Hunger Games Committee left. One of the men who was there to help brainstorm the very idea of the Games, who helped initiate, organize it, plan it, **make** it. One of the few old politicians left, after the War and assassination attempts and sudden disappearances that cropped up when politicians in Panem retired.

Jayel Valiance held the utmost respect for him.

Then, the spell was broken by the others in the room.

"Who the fuck are you?" asked one woman, who held a nail file in her hand.

"Heeeeeey, it's a newbie!" chirped up another Gamemaker, a bright smile unfurling on their face.

"**Another** new one…?" one grumbled.

"Poor girl," muttered another under their breath.

Jayel froze, the entire room staring at her. An entire room of mostly frivolous, rich Capitolites that she questioned the worth ethics of.

But the weight of their stares was unnerving, nonetheless.

Wrangling her nerves under control, Jayel gave a faint smile, and spoke. "Hello, I'm a new Gamemaker. My name is Jayel Valiance. It's a pleasure to work with you all," she said, giving a bow to the room.

"Welcome. You should sit," a man with a deep voice uttered on the Head Gamemaker's left side, jerking his head towards the table. Jayel stared. He was covered in tattoos—or where those scars?—and he looked rather terrifying.

"Hey, newbie, you can sit next to me!" one of the Gamemakers piped up—the one who smiled brightly and called her a newbie earlier. It was hard to tell their gender, but they seemed nice, if a bit loud and…bright.

God, their hair was a bright shade of platinum-blonde that hurt to look at. And they were completely covered in glitter. Wait, were those precious gems in their clothes…?

Looking around tentatively, seeing that no one else was offering—or even held an open seat next to them—Jayel padded towards the seat that the platinum-blonde offered, sitting down.

"I'm Adrian, nice to meet ya!" the shiny blonde—Adrian—said loudly, all smiles. "I've been on this committee for a few years, so I usually help the newbie Gamemakers." Someone on the blonde's other side gave a scoff.

"Oh, and this is Demetrius," Adrian added with an even larger grin, jerking their head to the seat next to them. It was occupied by a short, grumpy-looking young man with deep purple hair in a side-swept hairstyle.

He looked like he could be no older than her. Actually, he looked **younger** than her—but she didn't know if that was because of how he looked, or his actual age.

"It's nice to meet you both, Adrian, Demetrius," Jayel said swiftly, with practiced politeness. Her mind was whirring quickly, trying to perfectly memorize their names and faces.

Although, it shouldn't be that hard—they were both interesting, and very different from one another. Not to mention, that she felt like they would be spending time together, at least in sitting in the same vicinity for future meetings.

"Demy was the newbie before ya, just barely gettin' a seat last year. Youngest Gamemaker in history, gettin' in when he was 20," Adrian added with a small laugh, voice jovial and somewhat teasing. "I bet you're glad, huh, Demy? You're not the fresh meat any more!" they crowed, looking over their shoulder at the purple-haired boy.

"Don't call me Demy, Shiny Shit," Demetrius grumbled under his breath, serious expression contrasting with his babyish face. "Word of advice, Jayel—shut up, look alive, pay attention. Do whatever Head Gamemaker Takami says. We're starting."

Then the baby-faced man turned his attention promptly to the old man at the head of the table, who stood. The chatter in the room quickly died down. Everyone stopped in whatever benign thing they were doing to turn to Krius Takami.

"Another year has come and gone in the Hunger Games," the man started, eyes squinted so much that Jayel couldn't tell if he had trouble seeing, or if it that was his usual expression.

"Another year of **success** has come and gone," the man went on firmly, voice holding a strength of steel despite its softness. "The 20th Annual Hunger Games were grand, exciting, even legendary. From the mutations, to the finale, to the Arena itself—it was an impressive job."

"This year, however, we must keep striving. For not just interesting—for perfection. We must outdo ourselves, as we have done for every year prior, to be up President Tenebris Monochrome's—and our dear home, the Capitol's—standards."

Krius Takami looked around at the table. "So… To start off this meeting like of those prior…Do any of you have any ideas for this coming year's Arena?"

At that, the prior scene shattered. Instead of awe, reverie, and total attention…The Gamemakers seemed to go back to mindless chatter and benign tasks.

This confused the new, blue-haired Gamemaker. Demetrius had just advised that she should do whatever Head Gamemaker Krius said, but the others seemed to not want to give their own ideas on the matter of the Arena.

At her bewildered look, Adrian gave a grin, leaning towards her to talk quietly to her. Which was a first, for the amount of time she knew this friendly, joking Gamemaker.

"So, you got an idea, newbie? Wanna give this a try?" the androgynous blonde murmured, bemused. Their eyes were twinkling (was that glitter in their eyes too?! The hell?) with mirth. "Or d'ya wanna be like Demy, who chickened out and never said anything?"

Jayel shrugged, frowning. She didn't like **not** contributing. It wasn't her style.

If no one contributed, how were they going to get anything done…?

Unbeknownst to her, she didn't have to worry. All the other Gamemakers already knew that Krius Takami was a genius. The man was wise, and could plan and execute anything quickly.

It was merely a formality to ask for ideas. Krius always had an idea for the Arena before the first Gamemakers Meeting (which was usually held two months after the end of the Games).

And whenever Krius Takami had an idea, he stuck to it. Little deterred him.

It was rare for him to ever use someone else's idea. The man was practical, intelligent, and pretty much a miracle worker.

Krius didn't need any of the other Gamemakers, not truly. Not even his right-hand man, and second-longest working Gamemaker, the scarred and intimidating Atticus.

However, the others did the grunt work he had no time for. So he kept them, and the technicians, and all the other workers, if only to speed up the process and make the Arena come to fruition.

But Jayel Valiance was going to change this previous tradition. At least, for this meeting.

"I have an idea, sir," the new Gamemaker spoke, raising her hand politely.

Everyone turned their attention to the young woman.

"_What does she think she's doing?_" one Gamemaker murmured to another.

"_Doesn't she know that proposed ideas never used…?"_

"_She just doesn't know what she's doing, she's new_."

"_Watch her get her butt handed to her, just watch_."

"Go on, Ms. Valiance," Krius stated, nodding at her.

Jayel took a breath, mulling the idea over once more in her mind, before nodding resolutely. "How about a large-scale maze, sir?"

"Mmmm," the old man murmured, eyes squinting even further (or did he close them? It was hard to tell, since he was Japanese) as he stroked his chin.

"_I fucking knew it_," the woman with the nail file hissed.

"_He's not pleased at all…"_ another noted nervously.

"How would you overcome the issue of food and water, Ms. Valiance?" Krius asked, looking somewhat interesting, in a detached way.

The buzzing of the room ceased. The entire room stared quietly at the now nervous blue-haired woman.

"Well, say that this maze is an outdoors Arena," Jayel proposed. "The maze could be…Made of hedges. Plants could dot the grass and hedges—some of them edible, for the Tributes to gather. And as for water—perhaps you can place natural water fountains about maze.

"If anything, you could scatter packages of such supplies amongst the corridors, maybe in the dead ends. So that the Careers who monopolized the supplies wouldn't be the only ones with food and water..."

Krius leaned forwards, looking intrigued, hands spread across his desk.

"Yes…Yes, I see…" the man said, soft voice carrying across the room. "It's a good basis for an Arena…Perhaps we should build upon it."

Almost the entire room's jaws dropped, as they stared bewildered and awed at the blue-haired woman.

"_No fucking way_," one said hoarsely.

"_No one's ideas have ever actually gotten a green light before_!"

"_Seriously, how the hell…?"_

"Good job," Adrian whispered in her ear, smile as wide as a smug cat's.

"Anything else to expand upon this?" Krius queried, to the room at large. He looked around, seeming genuinely interested in the other Gamemaker's opinions, in a rare show of equality.

"Well, sir," Jayel started, smiling proudly, as she stepped up to give her ideas once more. "For the Cornucopia, we can…"

* * *

**Atticus Brevaunt, 55, Senior Gamemaker**

It's been months since the first Gamemakers meeting. Months since the pleasant surprise of Krius Takami—Atticus' better, coworker, and ally—working **with** the other Gamemakers.

Unity was vital to everything. To progress, to a strong nation, to **life**. And despite the wealth of wisdom that was personified as Krius, the elder man wasn't one for unity. He led, others followed. That's how it has always been. The man was a vital head of Panem's government for years, before becoming Head Gamemaker, after all.

So Atticus had to commend the young Jayel Valiance for bringing upon this rarity of equality, if only for a few months. The atmosphere was more vibrant and excited, the other Gamemakers for once putting their full efforts into the goal of creating the Arena.

It wasn't just Krius at the head, and he by the leader's side. It was **all** the Gamemakers—the entire circle forming together, creating the wheel that sped up progress and took them to interesting places.

Atticus was particularly proud of the muttations that flourished to life, when they all put their ideas together. The Arena could be considered quite basic to some, but it was the twist and turns and dangers that made things worthwhile.

A rare smile flourished on the scarred man's face, as he looked down at the official list of Tributes for the 21st Annual Hunger Games.

**Official Records for the 21****st**** Annual Hunger Games**

**Tribute List**

District 1 Female: Regina Gabriella 'Ginny' Saunders, 18

District 1 Male: Devon Mahone, 18

District 2 Female: Terezie 'Zie' Raquelle, 16

District 2 Male: Isko 'Boom' Barrius, 18

District 3 Female: Vulca Spark, 17

District 3 Male: Malcolm Fritz, 17

District 4 Female: Briar Indigo, 15

District 4 Male: Lex Calder, 16

District 5 Female: Cerium Morgan, 16

District 5 Male: Gavin Cox, 18

District 6 Female: Calisto Cadbury, 16

District 6 Male: Yohan Freesia, 16

District 7 Female: Flynn Caltier, 15

District 7 Male: Tomoki 'Animal' Seshat, 18

District 8 Female: Madras Ling, 18

District 8 Male: Jonah Abagnale, 15

District 9 Female: Liseli Avere, 18

District 9 Male: Azrael Rachaye, 17

District 10 Female: Mattie Wilde, 17

District 10 Male: Clovis Essenerus, 17

District 11 Female: Vamiya Willows, 16

District 11 Male: Hastiin Tsoh, 14

District 12 Female: Ashia Henley, 15

District 12 Male: Canteen Neverlast, 15

* * *

**President Tenebris Monochrome**

A similar list was sitting innocently on the President of Panem's desk. It was made of high-quality papyrus, written in emerald ink, embezzled with golden seals.

Tenebris couldn't help but give a small laugh, after scanning the list. So it seems that the three names he had rigged from the start did, in fact, end up getting Reaped.

A family member of a Victor, a criminal with Rebel ties who thinks they can outsmart and hide their misdeeds from the Capitol, and someone who could end up being an even more popular Victor than Kitrina Mordant.

Not to mention that all the delightfully strong and diverse personalities amongst this batch of Tributes will make things ever more interesting.

Yes, these Games will be fantastic…!

At that thought, Tenebris gave a long, full laugh that echoed across his high-ceiling office.


	3. Prologue: Blog

So I think I finally have most of the kinks worked out for the blog, except for the Tribute Profiles. But eff those, I can write them up when Reapings start to happen. Just freaking take it. **lost21sthg DOT jimdo DOT com**

I'm also going to have **our first poll,** about your favorite part of the blog. And for reviews in this chapter, you can comment on pretty anything: the chapter itself, thoughts of the blog, Victors, Tributes, etc.

Anyways, here to walk you through things is our favorite (but probably not) Gamemaker, the ever-sassy Demetrius. And also, because this chapter kinda needs some form of content to be legal.

* * *

**Demetrius 'Demy' Daybreak, 21, Gamemaker**

The Gamemakers Room was fairly barren. The only ones up at and ready, at this early hour, could be counted one just one hand. The short list consisted of Demetrius himself, Atticus Brevaunt, Head Gamemaker Takami, and some bitch named Deltrese. Said bitch wasn't even fully up yet, complaining loudly about needing more cappuccinos, still whittling away at her nails with her stupid nail file that never left her god-damn hand.

Demetrius was trying his best to ignore all present, poring over his laptop, typing away madly. After about ten minutes of nonstop typing and formatting, someone loomed over his shoulder.

"What're you doing, Demetrius…?" someone asked, causing the young man to jolt out of his reverie, jumping slightly in his seat.

He looked up and over his shoulder at the person who **dared** disturb him. He blinked his dark eyes, noting that it was Jayel Valiance, the newest Gamemaker.

The man pressed his mouth into a firm line, debating on telling her. The woman was one of the least annoying Gamemakers, was one of the hardest working, was always able to hold an intelligent conversation, and was a surprisingly pleasant person.

There was also the fact that he considered her to be a good ally, and even tentative friend. And Demetrius was never one to make friends, so that definitely said a lot about her.

"Making something," he finally answered her, curt, as he turned back to tapping away on his laptop.

He felt her press herself closer to his back, trying to look around his figure, which was crouched protectively over his computer.

"A…blog?" she asked, bewildered. Demetrius felt himself flush. "I didn't know you made blogs…"

"I do," he said curtly, trying to ignore her, despite their closeness.

"But why are you making a blog about this year's Hunger Games?" she pressed, sounding dubious. "Wait—why are you giving away information on the Tributes?! Doesn't that seem a bit early?"

Demetrius cried as his laptop suddenly got yanked to the side. Before he could do or say anything, Jayel was already quickly clicking and scrolling through tabs.

"And why are you giving away information on the Arena?!" she yelped, eyes wide, as she scrolled down the home page.

"Give me that!" he hissed, as he yanked his precious computer back. He was feeling incredibly protective on not just his tech, but his pastime. "And it's not like information leaks don't happen all the damn time anyway…God, it's just a fucking picture of the Maze when it was in-progress, back the fuck off!"

The blue-haired woman gave a dissatisfied huff, crossing her arms. He noted belatedly with the action that her bust was actually very large, but no one seemed to note it, since she held a weightly figure.

"Fine then," she stated, looking displeased. "If it's common, fine. Keep making it. But I want to see its progress."

Demetrius blinked lamely at her. Did he hear her right?

She tilted her head. "Come on—I'm really curious, now. Not to mention that I know little of coding or formatting or making these types of things. I mainly just search through them."

Demetrius' eyes drifted down towards his screen once more, as he debated whether he should let her see it or not.

He **did** spend a lot of time on it…And Jayel was capable, enjoyable company…

Ah, fuck it. Sure, he'll show her.

"Yeah, sure. Just sit the fuck down—I don't want you looming over my shoulder; I **hate** that," he sighed, scooting his precious laptop to the side, adjusting himself to share the screen.

Jayel gave a bright smile, sitting down and adjusting herself quickly.

"Okay, so, you already saw the homepage," Demetrius started. "Basic, and all that. Nothing special."

"Now, onto the tabs. You see the _Tributes_, _Mentors_, and _Other_ tabs?" he asked her, hovering over each one.

"Yeah."

"Okay, well, _those don't fucking matter_, got it? It's _the drop-downs that have any important shit_," he stated bluntly.

"But then why even **have** those tabs?" Jayel questioned, confused. Demetrius huffed, rolling his eyes.

"Because you need those to even have drop-downs, **obviously**," he stated. "Okay, now onto the other stuff. See the _Stats_ and _Profiles_ drop-downs under both the _Tributes_ and _Mentors_ tabs? _Profiles_ hold _summaries of their backstories_, and shit. _Stats_ hold _information in a list format_, like official documentation."

"Alright, I get it now," she nodded thoughtfully, blue hair swishing.

"Okay, now moving onto _Tribute Track_. This _tracks the current progress of Tributes_: shows where they are when it comes to the Games, new allies, when they die, etcetera etcetera. You get the gist."

"Ohhhh, that sounds really handy," she noted with a smile, seemingly impressed.

Demetrius puffed up slightly in pride. "Hell yeah it is. It's annoying when you go to check up on their profiles, and you already see that your favorite's died already, before you checked the broadcasts."

"Anyways, see _Polls_? That literally just holds the _results of_ both official _polls_ and blog-related polls. So stuff on Tributes, stuff about the blog itself, stuff over who your favorite Mentor is—all in here."

"So more poll results than the Official Records? Huh."

"Yup. And finally, drop-downs under the _Other_ tab…Is _crap that didn't fit in any of the previous categories_. So profiles about us, the Arena, future muttations when they come up in the Games," here, he couldn't help but give a wide grin, and a small chuckle "you know, the usual."

Before the two young Gamemakers could speak further about the blog, they were interrupted by an unlikely person.

"What is this that you are collaborating on, Ms. Valiance and Mr. Daybreak?" queried the wisened, wavering tone that both fresh-faced Gamemakers knew well.

"Head Gamemaker Takami!" Demetrius squeaked, jolting in shock, his eyes feeling like they'd pop out of his skull.

"It's…A blog for the 21st Annual Hunger Games, sir…" the blue-haired woman answered hesitatingly, also looking spooked.

The old man clicked his tongue. "You youth, and your blogs and twittering and tumblers. Back in my day, and the computer was still in its early stages. To this very day, I cannot fathom why our youth is so enraptured with websites and apps with no useful application to real life. Why, when I was…"

Demetrius gave a low groan as Head Gamemaker Takami started to lecture them on the frivolity that laptops created, and the olden technology of back in his times of youth. Jayel, besides him, was faring much better at the boring droning—she was politely listening, nodding her head and making all the right motions and comments during pauses.

Damn it, he'd have to update the rest of his blog later…


	4. Intros: One Month

**AN**: Alrighty, here's the new chapter—the start of **Character Intros**! These are scenes that showcase each Tribute and their lives. There'll be **4** chapters of these Intros (each one having 6 tributes) which I moved around to fit in their time frames instead of going through in District order. After these, it's the Reaping chapters.

So, I wrote these intros in chronological order of when they happened, during the month. I _tried_ keeping them around the 1k mark, but Briar's ended up almost doubled because her section has Victors in it. Whoops.

Madras' entire situation just reminded me a lot of Fantine in Les Mis. So, yeah, the songs in her section are from the Les Miserables 2012 movie, _At The End Of The Day_ and _I Dreamed A Dream._ The songs in Jonah's section are _Baby_ and _Down to Earth_ by Justin Bieber. Also, Ashia's story mostly came from her submitter, _mikitty bast_. She had this huge epic on her form, which I just couldn't resist to add in the story.

The Tributes this chapter are: **Canteen, Briar, Mattie, Madras, Jonah, **and** Ashia**. Also, warning: swearing, guns, slurs, homophobic assholes, mentions of prostitution.

* * *

**Intros: One Month** (Until Reaping)

* * *

**Canteen Neverlast, 15, District 12**

Out in a remote place in the forests surrounding District Twelve stood a grazing buck. It was incredibly majestic and regal, despite its benign actions. It's coat was thick and a luscious shade of brown, its body a firm and hardy, and its antlers were large and fierce.

Slowly, a teenage boy crept towards said buck. He had a crude bow in his hands—one that he had made and tweaked himself, having crafted it after the very bows the hunters who delved into the forest used. The ramshackle weapon he had in his hands, despite looking very paltry compared to the real deal, had so far lasted an entire year. Much longer than his former attempts at crafting a weapon to hunt game with.

The curly-haired boy crept ever closer, carefully, slowing down his breathing. He brought up his weapon, stringing a self-crafted arrow in place, trying to not catch the attention of the buck and spook it.

So far, so good. The buck hadn't noticed him yet. The boy crept forwards a bit further, arms and arrow taut.

But then he suddenly snapped a twig under his foot, causing the buck to snort and rear up its head. He let the arrow go quickly, but it simply bounced off of the animal's antlers.

Said animal was now snorting and frantic. Before the boy could do anything other than curse, the buck did something sudden. With its strong hind legs, it forcefully kicked him in the face.

"God fucking damn it!" the boy cried out, clutching his mouth in pain—which had gotten the brunt of the impromptu attack.

The buck went and ran off before he could try shooting it down once more. Then again, he dropped his weapon, and doubted he could string up an arrow with the sharp pain in his mouth…

Taking his hand from his mouth, he found a large tooth and a few white chips, surrounded by blood, on his palm.

There came an exasperated sigh behind the boy, and a familiar voice. "Only **you** would get their teeth kicked in by a deer, Canteen…"

Canteen looked over his shoulder, grimacing, as he took in the form of his best friend. Said best friend had her hands on her hips, makeshift sling on her shoulder, shaking her head at him. Her dark hair swayed with the action.

"Hey, Haley," Canteen said slowly, before suddenly turning his face to the side to spit out some more blood and teeth chips.

Haley gave a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Let's just get you home, Canteen. Don't want you bleeding out or passing out on me," she stated tersely. At Canteen's watery-eyed, kicked-puppy look, she decided to add something positive. "At least we've gotten berries to trade at the Hob, and your mom can patch you up."

Canteen brightened, giving a large grin, before grimacing from the pain. "'Kay," he said, as he picked up his supplies, following Haley through the forest. "…And there's no guarantee that my Mom can help, y'know. She's still useless after my Dad died, remember? Just sits there, without doing anything..."

Haley should know of Canteen's situation. After all, the girl's father died in the same mining accident that killed Mr. Neverlast. Victor Sabbath was trying his best to improve the conditions of the mines and lower the fatality rate, but there were still accidents that happened all the time. Mining was a naturally tough, dangerous profession.

Haley snorted, hefting her sling farther up her shoulder. "Canteen, despite your delusions, Mira's actually being doing more than you give her credit for. And if **she** can't help, maybe Mitten—"

Canteen shot her a wide-eyed, aghast look. "We are **not** going to go and put my poor, precious little brother through something as traumatizing as tending to my blood-spewing mouth!"

"Canteen, Mitten's dealt with bloody injuries before—"

"No," Canteen stated firmly, grey eyes sharp, before covering his mouth once more to help with the bleeding. "Not poisoning pure little Mitten. The blood would be too much."

"Whatever," Haley snorted, rolling her own pair of Seam-grey eyes. "Let's just hide our stuff before we jump the fence like old-time Mexicans."

The two promptly hid their crappy weapons in their jackets with practiced ease. They then slowly crept towards the edge of the trees, looking around.

No one was by the fence. They neared it, hearing intently for the hum of electricity, but all was quiet. Quickly, they climbed and jumped over the chain-link fence, back into the official part of District Twelve.

The two meandered through the dirty, dust-covered pathways of the Seam, going towards the Neverlast's small home. On the way, something shone brightly on the grimy ground, catching the boy's attention.

"Ooooooh, shiny!" Canteen exclaimed, face bright, as he bent to pick it up.

"Canteen, no!" Haley hissed frantically, slapping his hand away, causing him to yelp. "You can't just pick up random shiny objects on the road! Remember, that's a past-time of the Peacekeepers that have nothing else to do: they plant a coin in a random place on the road, watch for someone to pick it up, and then they swoop in and arrest the poor sap that falls for it!"

"Aw, c'mon, Haley! It's shiny, so it must not be **that** bad!" Canteen argued, before kneeling down and swiftly snatching the object. The girl looked around nervously, but seeing that no Peacekeepers were jumping from between buildings, relaxed. "See, I told you," he replied smugly, a dumb grin on his face.

"Whatever—you just got lucky," Haley said haughtily, as he moved the object around in his hands. "Wait—that's not a coin!"

Canteen gave a happy laugh. "Nope! Hey, lookie here—it's, like, a golden pin!" he crowed, shoving the pin in the girl's face. "And it's got a hummingbird on it! Weird, huh?"

His friend scowled, swatting his hand away. "It's not a hummingbird, moron—it's a mockingjay," she told him patronizingly, before realizing something, and glared down venomously at the small object. "And who the hell even leaves a valuable pin in the middle of the road?!"

Canteen gave a languid shrug. "Dunno, and don't care. It's shiny, and it's mine now," he said, giving a dreamy grin that made him seem even more questionably stupid than before.

His friend spluttered angrily, looking like she couldn't even think of the words to explain how absolutely idiotic he was. Finally, she just firmly grabbed his shoulders, turned him forcefully towards his home, and gave him a shove.

* * *

**Briar Indigo, 15, District 4**

A teen girl quickly dried and put away the dishes that her mother washed, working in tandem together. They looked very similar—same straight, blonde hair, blue eyes, and body proportions.

"Briar, I'm sorry to do this—especially since your father won't be back for a few days—but I need you to take care of your little brother and sister for a few hours. I have a few classes to coach," the mother said as she dried her hands, standing right in front of the girl, looking apologetic.

"It's no problem, Mom," Briar said quickly, in her usual responsible manner.

She wasn't surprised at her mother's request. After all, Briar was usually stuck taking care of her siblings whilst her parents worked. It was inevitable, since her father was a Captain of one of Four's grand ships, usually gone for hefty stretches of time. And her mother had the important job of coaching kids on how to swim—a skill that was vital for the District.

She didn't begrudge her parents at all for this, though. Their family still loved each other very much, and Briar adored her siblings. Besides, the Indigos were part of the Cohen clan, through her mother—that meant that no matter what, there was always family that could help Briar, if she needed it.

"How about you go visit your Aunt Mags? I'm sure that Penelope and Augustus will love seeing her after—how long has it been? A whole month since they've seen her?" Pearl Indigo nee Cohen mused, a small smile on her face.

Briar brightened immediately at the suggestion. "I'll go get them ready, right now!" she said cheerily, before rushing off to wrestle her young siblings in proper clothes for a visit to the Victor's Village.

Before long, Briar had the little five year old boy and six year old girl in decent clothes. The three children parted ways with their mother, bounding down their roadway excitedly.

Briar enjoyed spending time with her aunt, even if she saw her every so often at the Training Center. Aunt Mags was just a total joy, always kind and understanding, like a mother to the entire District. And it was lucky that she came out unchanged from the Hunger Games, so that she could spread her warmth to everyone.

Soon enough, the three Indigo children were at the intricate gate of the Victor's Village, walking up the beautiful cobblestone path towards the welcoming mansion of Mags Cohen. Penelope and Augustus finally managed to wriggle their grips from Briar's, and ran right up the path, giggling and hollering like energetic little children usually do.

Briar, already used to her siblings, simply jogged behind them, bringing up the rear of their little group. The two kids shared a look as they stopped right at the foot of the door, before twisting open the silver knob together. The tiny duo stepped into the large entryway, bouncing around excitedly, looking every which way. Briar had the decency to shut the door behind her—even if the door would most likely open once more, from the constant stream of people that entered and left the mansion.

"C'mon—let's see if we can find Aunt Mags," she told them as she crouched down, a playful grin on her face. Her siblings beamed at her, before latching onto her hands and dragging her through the archways of the mansion.

The trio comfortably greeted family members as they made their way through the large home. However, after ten minutes of wandering, her siblings were getting tired and just wanted to see their favorite aunt (although, none of them would say so to their family members, in case they got offended).

Briar smartly asked one of her cousins—who was lounging on a very comfortable-looking armchair in one of the sitting rooms—for Mags' whereabouts. He looked up from his book, pushing his glasses up his nose, before telling her Mags' probable location: a small kitchen near the back of the house, first floor. Briar thanked him gratefully, before her siblings dragged her away.

As they neared the small kitchen near the back of the mansion, her siblings bounded in before her.

"Aunt Mags!" the duo yelled in unison, as they rushed towards the blonde woman sitting at the small, two-person table. They surrounded her, hugging her, as she looked at them with a surprised grin.

"Hello, little ones!" Mags said brightly, despite the sudden intrusion. Briar stood off to the side, grinning at the sight, before she realized that there was someone else in the small kitchenette. Festus Marsh was languidly sitting across from Mags. One of his eyebrows was quirked at the sudden intrusion, a cup of tea halfway to his mouth.

She shouldn't be surprised. After all, Festus was District Four's second Victor, so his home was next to Mags'. And then there's the fact that Mags invited him often to her mansion, seemingly adopting him into the Cohen clan, in a very Mags-like fashion.

"Hello, Uncle Festus," Briar greeted him with a small wave, giving him a lop-sided grin.

"Hey, Brat," the brunette man retorted easily, before giving a small gulp of his cup.

Those words snapped Augustus and Penelope out of their reverie. They soon turned their affections to the man sitting at the table, pouncing on him.

"Uncle Festus!" they cried in unison, as they started to hug his sides.

"Gah! What the hell, brats?!" he crowed, barely keeping from spilling his tea over them. "Get off me!"

"But we haven't seen you in **forever**, Uncle Festus!" Augustus whined.

"And you can't escape from our hugs this time, when you're sitting down," Penelope added sagely, giving a giggle.

The man gave a grumble, glaring between the children, Briar—who was watching the entire thing, hands behind her back, rocking on her heels—and the ever beaming Mags. "Fine, I'll give ya that, at least," he roughly said to the two little ones. "But how many times do I gotta tell ya that I'm **not** your uncle?"

"But you are!" "You're Uncle Festus!"

"Festus, I don't think the little Cohen and Indigo children will stop calling you Uncle. It's a few years too late," Mags noted in a chiming voice, as she sipped languidly at her tea.

"Like hell," he denied, soon swiftly turning his to attention to the duo that were latched to him. "Look, I can't be your real Uncle, 'cuz I'm not married into your family. That's how it works, right? 'Least, I think so…"

The two looked up at him in confusion, before sharing a look. Suddenly, an understanding seemed to pass between the brother and sister, and their eyes gleamed.

"Then, you should marry Aunt Mags! And then you can be our real Uncle!" Penelope stated simply, jumping a bit in place.

Festus, who was barely taking a drink of his tea, spit it violently back into its cup. He looked down at the pair, dumbfounded, eyes wide. "T-The hell?!" he exclaimed, his face going pink.

Mags, sitting across the table, tried to cover her snickers behind her fist. Briar was silently laughing in the background—having perfected the technique from all the shenanigans her siblings got into.

The poor man looked lost, as he frantically looked around the room. "T-That's—I ain't—You **brats**! I-I'm not just gonna suddenly marry Mags outta **nowhere**, it's not how it's **done**!" he exclaimed, glaring down at the innocent-looking children.

"But then you'll be our official Uncle!" Penelope chirped, staring at him with doe eyes.

"That still wouldn't work, ya brats! I'd be an in-law or somethin', and…" the wavy-haired man floundered, giving a pointed glare at his fellow Victor—who merely grinned at the spectacle.

"Well, if he's not gonna marry Aunt Mags…" Augustus mused, a smirk spreading across his usually angelic features. "He can marry Briar!"

"Yeah, marry Briar!" Penelope exclaimed, her expression perfectly mirroring her younger brother's.

At this, Briar's face flamed, turning a deep red. She stared wide-eyed between her cheeky siblings, a still amused Mags, and an equally embarrassed Festus. When she got to Festus with his wide, mesmerizing, grey eyes and flushed, handsome face, she snapped her gaze down towards her feet.

She felt so **embarrassed**. Festus was her **teacher**! Whenever she attended the Training Center, he was always there, helping her with her weapon training. And she truly looked to him as a bit of an uncle—she wouldn't ever think of marrying him!

But then again, he **was** handsome. And the age gap between them was the same as her own parents—7 years—so it's not like that bothered her, per se…

Wait, why was she even thinking of this?!

Her face darkened to maroon, as her siblings chanted "Mar-ry Bri-ar! Mar-ry Bri-ar!" whilst they jumped up and down, clinging to Festus' arms.

"Get off me, brats!" Festus exclaimed, face aflame, ripping his arms from their grips. "Shut up about me marryin' Bri—Brat! About marryin' your brat sister!"

He gave an imploring look towards Mags, obviously pleading with his eyes to _help him_. Mags was laughing so hard, tears were falling out of her green eyes, and sound stopped coming out of her mouth. But she took a few deep breaths, brushed the tears away with her finger, and stood up.

"Penelope, Augustus—How about I show you how to make more fish hooks? What do you say?" she said kindly, lowering down to the height of the children. The two beamed at her, bouncing excitedly around her, finally leaving the poor man they'd been hounding to compose himself.

Mags straightened, taking the two kid's hands in her own. She looked towards the still-mortified Briar, eyes twinkling. "Do you want to stay with Festus, Briar? Or will you be joining us…?"

"I-I'll go!" Briar squeaked, eyes flitting about nervously, her face still red. She skittered out of the room quickly.

She'd never felt so embarrassed in her life; she was usually very outgoing and unflappable, used to her siblings' shenanigans. But then a very good-looking male got dragged into it, and she was a blushing mess!

Briar, thankfully, managed to avoid Festus for the rest of her stay in the Cohen mansion. It took her an entire week to finally make the decision of going back to the Training Center, and end up meeting him again.

* * *

**Mattie Wilde, 17, District 10**

Dinner passed by in its usual affair in the Wilde home—loud talking, Mattie complaining, dishes clanking, and an overall warm atmosphere. Soon, the Wilde family retired for the night, all tucked in to their beds.

Except for Mattie. Her hunter senses were tingling, ears twitching, an odd shiver coiling down her spine. Slowly, she slid off of her bed, laced on her boots, shouldered on her jacket, and snuck out of her room. She passed by the den, picked up her trusty rifle, and slowly crept her way to the back door.

Something was wrong. She could feel it in the air, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling.

She slid open the door quietly, stepping out onto her back porch. Here, she scoured the area, listening and looking intently.

The stable door was creaking open from a breeze. That shouldn't be happening—Mattie sealed the damn thing herself.

Was it a fox, or a wolf? No, it couldn't be. There was noise coming from the stables—loud and bumbling, but like it was purposefully muffled. Animals would either be incredibly silent, or cause complete chaos.

She got closer, swift but still light-footed. She could hear the horses snorting in irritation, and a few low whinnies. The latch didn't seem to have any damage in the form of claw marks, or any other signs that the culprit was a beast.

Then she heard it. A frantic, high-pitched whinny, and a few decidedly **male** curses.

Robbers. And they were trying to steal one of the damn new-born ponies, probably thinking that it would be easier to take than a full-grown, trained horse.

She quickly stepped into the building, readying her rifle. "Step away from the pony, motherfuckers."

The two young men who were trying to wrestle the pony into bindings paused, snapping their heads towards her. Their eyes widened at the sight of the rifle.

She steadied her barrel towards them, eyes narrowed. One of them was a plain-faced brunette with green eyes, who looked like the older one of the duo. The other one was stockier, with dark hair, who had a vicious sneer on his face.

"Step away from the damn pony, or I'll fuckin' shoot you and yer robbin' asses 'til you're deader than a doorknob," Mattie re-iterated coarsely, anger frothing.

No one hurts her fucking horses, and gets away with.

"Leave the horse! Run!" the brunette man ordered, jumping up to his feet. His partner in crime quickly got up and did so, the two bolting out of the other exit.

"Oh no you don't!" Mattie roared, stepping out of the exit right next to her to give chase. They were surprisingly fast, but not far enough for her to miss with her rifle. She quickly brought up the weapon, aimed, and fired.

A pained yell, and one of the men suddenly limping instead of running, confirmed that she shot him in the leg. Suddenly, another hollering young man came from the side—from the trajectory, it seems like he'd been planted to watch the front of the house.

Idiots. Did they **honestly** not consider someone going out the back door?

"And don't you come back, you scummy dumbasses!" she yelled after their retreating figures, feeling oddly proud of having scared off three robbers on her own.

Suddenly, Mattie's parents were rushing towards her.

"What in tarnations is happenin'?!" roared the imposing Buck Wilde, his own rifle in his hands. He huffed as he took his place next to his daughter, looking around wildly, red hair glinting from the moonlight.

"We heard yellin', and gunshots!" Lottie Wilde said frantically, rushing in her nightgown and slippers. She looked over her daughter anxiously, seeing if she was hurt.

"It's fine—stop with yer damn fussin', Ma," Mattie groused, swatting away her mother's hands. She turned to her father. "There were robbers—three of 'em, tryin' to steal one of our ponies. I caught 'em in the act, threatened 'em with my rifle, and they bolted. I managed to shoot one of 'em in the leg."

Buck gave a curt nod to his daughter, a small, proud grin on his face. "Those rats won't be comin' back here again. Nice job, baby girl," he told her, clapping her on the back.

0-0-0-0-0

Oddly enough, those robbers came back the very next day. However, this time, they didn't try to steal anything. Instead, they came and knocked on the front door, like **normal** people.

Mattie opened the door, met with the sight of two familiar men, and some dark-skinned kid that looked younger than her. She scowled fiercely at them, body tensed, ready to fight them.

"We're not here to fight, bitch," sneered the stockier man, the one with the dark hair. He gave her a once-over with his eyes, making her skin crawl. "Though, I wouldn't mind it in a different sense…"

"Um, we're kinda here to apologize, actually…" said the youngest of the group awkwardly. He scratched the back of his head, laughing nervously. "Um, I'm Bart. The dick over here" he gestured to the stocky man, who glowered down at him, "is, ironically enough, named Dick. And the tower behind me is my brother Reid."

Mattie stared at them with half-lidded eyes, clearly not amused.

"Don't care. Yer robbers—I can sick the fuckin' Peacekeepers on you, and then won't have to deal with yer stupid excuses," she groused, glowering at the trio of bedraggled men on her doorstep.

"Ah—But two can play at that game," the tallest and oldest—Reid—said, with a pleasant smile on his plain face. Mattie gave him a questioning look, arms crossed, her attention fully on him.

"The Peacekeepers may look the other way when it comes to hunting with rifles to catch fresh meats, if they get a cut of the share…But what if said rifles ended up hurting someone?" At this, he shifted one of his legs forwards; it was covered in bandages. Mattie realized that this man was the one she managed to hit, last night.

"You—and your entire family—can get punished by your illegal ownership of rifles, and shooting a person with said rifles. That's dangerous, not to mention very…Rebellious, yeah?" Reid spoke, oddly jovial.

She sneered venomously at him. "You tried to fuckin' **rob** us, and you're gonna try throwin' **us** under the bus?"

"But owning dangerous weapons can be used against the Capitol in revolts—at least, that's what the Peacekeepers say. And who's worse off? Robbers, or potential rioters?" The stocky man—Dick— interjected. A cruel grin was on his face, as he casually popped his neck.

For once, Mattie was intimidated. She never thought that a group stupid enough to not be able to steal a fucking **pony** was smart enough to **blackmail** her and her family.

"Fine," she spit through clenched teeth. "I won't rat **you** out, and you won't rat **me** out. We're even."

"Oh, that's a relief!" noted Bart with a sigh and a dimple-filled smile. "I'm usually not great at talking to pretty girls in most situations, but this whole blackmail thing made it even more nerve-wracking, haha."

"Fine, whatever," she deadpanned, fighting the urge to grin from Bart's comment and jovial nature. "Get the hell off our property, and have an oh-so-fan-fuckin'-tastic day," she growled, ready to slam the door in their faces.

"Wait!" interjected Reid quickly. Mattie paused, her red hair swishing, oddly curious. When he noted that she wasn't going to slam the door in their faces just yet, he gave her a bright smile.

"Why don't you join us? With someone of your talent in our gang, we could do so much more…"

A few days later, Mattie Wilde was the new raid watcher and strategist for Reid's gang of petty thieves. The thrill of constant danger won her over.

* * *

**Madras Ling, 18, District 8**

A young Asian woman let out a long breath, as she cleaned and put away the chipped dishes in the tiny, broken cupboards. She had just sent her little brother Cotton to do his schoolwork in their shared room. Their meager dinner of plain noodles and half a slice of grainy Tessera bread had went by quietly.

It used to not be like this. She still remembers how, just a year ago, her life was full of warmth. Her parents were still alive, and they all lived in the home above the Ling Tailor Shop. There was always laughter, love, enough food to fill their bellies, and enough heat from the stove to keep away the biting chill.

Madras gave a severe shiver. Before the Peacekeepers had raided their shop, she'd never had any particularly bad experiences with them. But then those strong men in pure-white uniform raided the Ling Tailor Shop, quickly killing her parents, believing that they were terrorists that were hiding weapons amongst the spools of fabric.

Her family would **never** do anything so awful. They were good people.

Only after the Peacekeepers tore apart the store and their home, did they realize they'd been mistaken. All Madras got was a stiff apology from the Mayor, and a small monetary compensation for the deaths of her parents.

She was forced to deal with her parent's dead bodies, arrange the funeral, clean the shop. Then she was ordered to vacant it so that it could be turned into a new store. She took whatever valuable items that were left intact from the destruction, and moved her and Cotton into a dingy little apartment in the Smog area of the District.

The monetary compensation dwindled quickly, in lieu of paying for rent and buying second-hand items for their barren apartment. Madras then sold off all the spools of fabrics and precious items she'd salvaged.

But that wasn't enough, either. The money disappeared, so, so quickly…

They both took out Tesserae. Madras didn't like that her brother put his name in more times in the Reaping bowl; she wanted to protect him. But he was vehement, saying that she did everything by herself through this tragedy, and that he needed to do **something** to not feel like a total burden.

The Tesserae helped, but there was only so much the meager supply of grain and oil could do for them. She was forced to find a job.

But none of the factories had room. They were already overcrowded as it was. Overcrowded, overworked, underpaid…

No matter where she tried to look, she couldn't find an opening. She'd even stood in front of the gates of some of the factories with the rest of those that were hoping to gain a job. But she was so short and frail, she was never able to fight her way through the crowd and into the gates, whenever the managers opened them for an allotted number of people to start work.

Even Cotton had tried. After all, the Looms always went through many children to work the machines and fix things. But he was so tiny and weak, despite being fourteen, because of his Asian heritage… There were so many children swarming the Looms, he couldn't find one either.

Madras took in a long, shaky breath, as she clutched the kitchen counter, her knuckles white.

She'd have to do **it**. She'd have to go **back,** and…

She didn't want to, but it was necessary.

She'd started her new profession five months ago. But back then, it was only once every other week, at most. Only when she was paranoid, thinking that the money or Tesserae couldn't stretch out.

But as the months passed, she started going more frequently. Three months ago, it was once every week. Last month, it was three times a week.

And now, this month, she'd lied to Cotton. She lied, telling him she got a job as a night security guard at one of the factories.

But it was such a paltry, **pathetic** lie. Madras was 5 feet 4 inches, thin, Asian, a teenager who was still of Reaping age, and a woman. No factory manager would be stupid enough to hire her as a security guard. The only thing she could guard was her problems.

But Cotton—bright, yet oblivious, **wonderful** Cotton—bought it. He is none the wiser to her vile profession. He's just focused on school—which is what Madras wanted for him. Cotton was precious, and intelligent, and still had a bright future ahead of him…

But not her. She was sullied and dirty, utterly hopeless and worthless. But Cotton still had a **chance**, and damn it all, she would keep at it if it meant he was able to become something worthwhile!

Madras' eyes burned, and she choked back a sob. She clapped a hand to her mouth, the tears slowly sliding down her face.

She wasn't strong. She couldn't hide her weakness, because that just took up her entire being. But she could hide her biggest problems. So long as Cotton never guessed that she became a prostitute, it would be alright.

She breathed in deeply, trying to calm her tears. The tears just kept spilling, but at least she wasn't sobbing.

Quickly, head ducked down, she shuffled into the one bedroom of their apartment. She went to one of her drawers of the beat-up dresser, rifled through, until she pulled out the careful bundle of her 'work clothes'.

Cotton was oblivious to her, sitting on their deflated little bed, burning a candle to read. He was reading his text book, and scrawled something on a page of paper.

Good, he was doing his school work. Quietly, Madras shuffled out of the room, closing the door behind her. She went to the box-like bathroom, and quickly changed into her new outfit.

Even though she's worn this many times before, it still brought her shame.

She exited the bathroom, hovering in the middle of the hall. Finally, she decided to bid farewell to her brother, like she usually did. "Cotton, I'm going to work now!" she called, voice still quiet, through the bedroom's door.

"Okay!" he called back, Madras clearly hearing him through the thin wood.

Taking a deep breath, quickly wiping her tears away, Madras exited her apartment.

To raise her spirits for the inevitable night of shame ahead of her, she sung a little song to herself.

"_At the end of the day, it's another day over…With enough in your pocket to last for a week…Pay the landlord, pay the shop, keep on working as long as you're able… Keep on working, till you drop, or it's back to the crumbs off the table…You've got to pay your waaaaay…At the end of the day_."

As Madras meandered her way down the back alleys of the District, ready to go to its dirty underbelly, she stopped. A frown was on her face.

That song was a very popular one around the District, usually sung by the workers at the factories. However, she **wasn't** a factory worker. She wasn't truly paving her way. She wasn't doing an honest, long day's work.

She was just…A whore.

Giving a shaky breath, Madras decided to sing another song. One of bittersweet melancholy.

"_I had a dreaaaam my life would be…So differeeeent from this hell I'm living… So differeeeeent noooooow from what it seeeemed…"_ she started morosely, trudging down the darkness, feet already knowing where to take her.

"_Now life has killed…The dream… I dreaaaaaaamed_…"

* * *

**Jonah Abagnale, 15, District 8**

_"And I was like—baby, baby, baby ohhhhh…"_

A teen boy with questionably pretty features meandered down the dirty street, singing languidly as he walked. He casually had his hands tucked in the pockets of his pants. His opened button-down fluttered slightly at each step, framing his wife beater tank top.

He had no destination in mind; he was walking because he was bored as hell. When he'd popped into his house, no one was there. He also checked into his neighbor's house to see if his best friend could hang out with him, but Feather wasn't home, either.

There was no one else that really hung out with him. Most of the boys at school despised him, and Jonah had punched quite a few of them. Then, the girls—bar Feather, his best friend—were kinda…Crazy and clingy.

Jonah didn't feel like dealing with the swarms of love-struck girls that clambered over themselves to date him. They constantly surrounded him at school, and he'd rather keep them at a distance when in public, so he could get some space to breathe, thanks.

God, he knew he was beautiful and had the voice of an **angel**, but sometimes it was just too much…

"Hey, faggot! Why aren't you off sucking dick?" a voice suddenly sneered behind him.

Jonah sighed in irritation. There goes the peace and quiet…

He turned around to see a small group of angry teen boys who tried to look intimidating and macho. He remembered these losers: he's punched each of them in the face at least three times.

"You back for another broken nose, boys?" Jonah asked lazily, subtly shifting his stance, in case he needed to fight them.

"You **wish**, fag," one sneered.

"Yeah, I bet you wish you could touch us, like the total faggot you are," another jibed.

"Probably," the leader scoffed, a smirk in place. "After all," he started, voice taunting, "He was raised by fags. They probably taught him and his little pansy of a brother how to be huge, disgusting homos, like them."

Jonah, who'd been stiffly waiting for them to do something, saw red.

Talk shit about him? Fine. He can deal with the haters.

Talk stupid homophobic shit about his family? Hell to-the-fuck no. You're getting your ass beat.

With an enraged war cry, a fierce snarl on his face, Jonah pounced. In one fluid motion, he brought his fist back— and quickly decked the dumbass leader that had slandered his family square in his stupid, ugly face.

One of the lackeys jumped forwards. But, thinking quickly, Jonah merely sidestepped him. He brought out his arm, and using the boy's forwards momentum, flipped the moron onto the ground with a small motion of his arm.

Without missing a beat, Jonah threw out his elbow of his opposite arm, elbowing another advancing lackey in the face. He then rammed his open palm onto his fist, giving his elbow extra force, and heard a satisfying crunch.

Suddenly, Jonah was jumped by behind. But using his upper arm strength, he crouched and threw the boy forwards. With the kid off-balanced, Jonah swiftly got him in a chokehold, punching him in the face with his unoccupied hand. He let the boy go, who crumpled to the ground, howling in pain whilst he clutched his face.

"You fuckers take it back," Jonah said lowly, teeth bared aggressively. "Take back what you said about my family, or I'll send you to the fucking hospital."

The small group of aggressors, thoroughly beaten and intimidated, scrambled up to their feet. "You'll regret this, faggot!" the leader yelled, before the entire group turned tail and ran back down the small, cobblestone street.

Jonah watched them leave with grim satisfaction, as he rubbed the knuckles of his dominant hand. His hand was bruised, some of the knuckles split—but it was worth it.

With a sigh, Jonah turned to start trudging back to his house. He needed to bandage up his hand, or find a way to hide it from his family.

"_So we fight, so we fight…through the hurt, through the hurt…And we cry and cry and cry and cry…And we live, and we live…And we learn, and we learn…And we try and try and try and try…_" Jonah sang under his breath, watching as his home came into his sight.

Honestly, having a brother and two dads shouldn't be a god damn problem…

* * *

**Ashia Henley, 15, District 12**

**_Ashia Ilyes Henley_**_ was born fifteen winters ago. It was a time when the homeless would beg for death from starvation, and frostbite would take their toes or fingers. When snow and ice would seep into everything, and freeze the machines solid. _

At this point in the entry, the pencil paused, just a few centimeters from the page of the well-worn notebook. Slowly, the girl who had been writing before began to do something new—she drew.

A quick mapping of a head and bust was drawn next to the cramped writing, in the margins. It was feather-light, and only noticeable by those who could stare closely at the paper.

Swiftly, Ashia drew in almond-shaped eyes, a nose, and small lips. Then she added more pencil strokes, each one perfectly executed, creating chin-length, black hair. She then proportioned the neck properly, drawing on a simple button-up top, adding minute folds in the proper places for the cloth.

All in all, the drawing took maybe thirty seconds. Ashia surveyed her work, giving a small nod, before going back to writing.

_Her parents, while they loved the young girl— and each other— deeply, were poor. They simply couldn't afford the young girl, their little bundle of joy. All they had went to the greatest necessities: house payments, and food. _

_Most of Ashia's clothes came from one of her parents, because of this. Her shirts were sizes much too big for her, and had patches upon patches sewn in the cloth, in attempt to keep the outfit together. Her parents tried their best to give her a good life. They bought little trinkets for her, if they could afford it, and showered her with love and affection. _

Again, the girl paused. Under this entry, she started to draw the basics of two adults, and a child between them. Her hand flew across the paper, flitting between each figure. She did their faces, then their hair, and then finally proportioned their bodies. She created the mother to have a hand on the little girl's shoulder, the father putting a hand on the other, and a hand around his wife's waist.

It was hard to fit in much detail, since she was drawing them to be so small, to save space. But the realism in these little thumbnails was astounding, nonetheless.

Once more, she went back to her entry.

_She __**tried**__ to make friends, but the girl was shut down each time. _

_A stutter in her early childhood was obvious. Words got mixed up, or pronounced wrong. It caused the other little ones to sneer at her, asking her why she couldn't "talk right"._

_As she grew, she hoped that school would be different. After all, she saw the children playing around in the school courtyard, saw how happy they looked. _

_However, school wasn't the best experience for her, either. She sat alone at lunch, drawing in her book, and watched as the other kids played games with each other. She never stood out in class. She simply sat in the back of the class room, and never actively participated. Almost as if she was mute; almost as if she __**didn't exist**__._

Here, Ashia clenched her pencil tightly, hand whitening. Her mouth pursed into a thin line.

She jerkily, angrily started to draw little scenes under the words. A small girl, alone, surrounded by black crosshatching. A young girl, hunched over a book, children playing in the background. A girl sitting at the back of a classroom, surrounded by talkative classmates, yet still alone.

_Bullies never seemed to try and pick on her that much, oddly enough. Maybe if it was a slow day, and their usual targets were gone. But even then, they did so rarely. _

_After all…What kind of entertainment would you get from a girl who wouldn't fight back against you at all? Who would just stand there blank-faced, seemingly an emotionless robot, until you left? _

_Not much. Not much at all. _

With a grim upwards quirk of the edge of her mouth, Ashia drew herself, looking dead and emotionless. Deadpan, unmoving as stone, as if she was a statue. The vague figures of boys in mid-speech surrounded her. But she was boldly outlined, stark black-and-white, compared to their hazy lead grays.

_There was a good part of her school life. The girl __**did**__ excel in her school work. She always placed at the top in her grade. This gave her an odd sense of satisfaction._

Ashia gave a miniscule smile, making a tiny box on the side with a large 100 dominating the top of the doodle.

_The girl's parents tried for another child, once she entered the Reaping bowl. Unfortunately, no child was conceived between the two, despite the three long years that have passed. Although, the girl still hopes they'd be able to make a child one of these days, despite their frugal position. _

_She has adopted—of a sorts— a small border collie named Minny, caring for her as training for a younger sibling in the future_

A small smile bloomed on Ashia's face, as she fondly thought of the scrawny dog. She gently drew the happy visage of the dog, each stroke loving. The eyes, snout, jaw, mouth—and then finally the wonderful fur, each small stroke drawn softly upon the page.

_Minny seemed to follow the girl around for the past year and half, looking for both food and affection. The dog found Ashia, who's more then happy to do both. She's rather spunky and affectionate with the girl, who has no trouble playing with the dog for hours upon hours, until dark. The girl loves the affectionate dog, and is really glad Minny began following her around. _

_The girl is glad she finally made a friend._

At that, Ashia gently closed her notebook. Writing about her best friend gave her the strong urge to go find and play with the adorable animal.

Ashia stood, notebook and pencil clutched firmly in her hands, and meandered off to give Minny a good rub on the head.


	5. Intros: One Week

**AN**: Whoo, I managed to post this before Christmas Eve! Which was a miracle, since today I helped make tamales.

They're still in chronological order, but also a bit from most humorous to least, like last chapter. Because when you're writing Tributes and their backstories, you start digging up a lot of dark shit, man.

The Tributes this chapter are**: Zie, Boom, Calisto, Gavin, Clovis, **and** Yohan**. Also, warning: explosions, swearing, slurs, physical abuse, polyamory, boys kissing, killing puppies, gambling, Batman, and a slew of other crap.

Wow, what is this now, a Michael Bay movie when he's off drunk in Vegas? At least it wasn't a musical, like last chapter…Also, that awkward moment when your best friend/boyfriend shares the name of one of the Tributes…

* * *

**Intros: One Week** (Until Reaping)

* * *

**Terezie 'Zie' Raquelle, 16, District 2**

When most girls in District Two wake up, their first thoughts are possibly of going back to sleep, or of having to ready themselves to look perfect for the day. Maybe some have to will themselves to wake in order to go to the Tribute Academy, wondering what activities they will be doing today.

But of course, the first thought Zie Raquelle had when she woke on that overcast day, was that she was getting rusty, and should find a nice building to jump off of today.

With that in mind, Zie ripped the covers off of herself, quickly threw on some random hodgepodge of an outfit, slipped in her shoes, and zipped out of her room. She quickly bounded down the hall, into the kitchen, snatched up a slice of toast, and left before her aunt could say nary a word.

The girl ripped open the front door of their cozy home, bounding out, the necklace worn under her shirt clacking loudly. "Zie!" the soft-hearted woman cried out, stepping out of the door that her niece blazed through.

All she could do was watch as the girl bounded down the road, giving her a languid "See ya later, Aunt Partridge!" before she shoved the entire piece of toast in her mouth.

Zie didn't want her aunt to slow her down. The woman was a worrywart and overprotective. But then again, she was soft-hearted, and pretty much let her do whatever she wanted. Hm…

Her thoughts quickly went from her aunt, to her favorite person in the world—who was sitting at the corner of the street, like he usually did.

Zie's wild amber eyes brightened at the sight of the hobo. He was the only person in the District that didn't avoid her or was unnerved by her, so he was thusly her favorite person in the world. It didn't matter if he had questionable hygiene and wore the same clothes all the time—she was like that most of the time, too.

"Mister!" she squealed out happily, bounding towards him, her uncombed hair swishing behind her.

The man jolted from his serene reverie, slowly raising his head, blinking to focus his gaze on her. At the sight of her, he gave a lopsided grin.

"Ah, hey there, Zie. How's my favorite girl doing on this fine morning?" he asked, voice dazed from sleep, as he raised a hand in greeting.

"I'm doing great!" she exclaimed with a wide grin, as she plopped down next to him, right on the dirty pavement.

"Hmmm…That so?" he asked languidly, scratching at his growing beard. Zie stared at it, suddenly very fascinated.

Mister usually had long-ish hair and a beard, but she remembers when once, he had shaved it off and got a haircut. He had looked so **young**, and kinda handsome, to boot. But the beard and long hair were more familiar, and just screamed 'Mister'.

"You up for a game of Black Jack, then?" the man asked her, swiftly reaching into the pocket of his coat, bringing out a well-worn pack of cards. "Or you want me to whoop your cute little butt at B.S., again?" he added with an amused grin.

Zie pouted at him. "I'll win against you at B.S., one of these days, Mister…" she grumbled. But the man just chuckled good-naturedly, patting her on the head, which caused her to beam happily at him. "But, sorry, not right now. Kinda getting rusty, so I need to find a good building, and take a dive off it."

The bearded man frowned at her in concern. "For your…Career Training? Yeesh, I still can't believe they make you kids do such extreme things like jump off buildings…"

She simply gave a hum, and a restless little wriggle in her seat. "Yeah, somethin' like that…" she said distractedly. Suddenly, she jumped up from her spot, looking itching to start running. "Anyways, yeah— I'm gonna go do that! See ya later, Mister!"

Before the man could question her further about her life choices, or think of another way to get her to give him money, she bounded off down the street.

"God help anyone that has to put up with her…" he muttered to himself, shaking his head sadly. The hobo then promptly settled back down on the pavement, hoping to get another few minutes of shut-eye.

* * *

**Isko 'Boom' Barrius, 18, District 2**

A monstrously large teenage boy was demolishing many straw training dummies with his club, in District Two's Tribute Academy. He did so in an almost casual way, a serene smile on his face.

He also chatted to his friends—fellow training Careers—putting most of this attention to their conversation rather than his actions.

"So, I was wondering if you guys wanted to go down to the corner store to get some last-minute supplies for…" Isko babbled, before noting the white faces and wide eyes of his friends. "Hey, what's wrong? You guys look like you've seen a ghost, haha," he noted, laughing jovially. At the same time he laughed, he hit a dummy so hard that it literally exploded into tiny pieces.

"Um, nothing, bro…" one of the potential Career boys squeaked, having to look up at the towering 6 feet 5 inch glory that was Isko 'Boom' Barrius.

Isko gave a blindingly bright smile. "Okay! So, you guys up for it? My new project is totally sick—I've been tweaking and working on it all week, you know!"

"Er—Sorry, man, but it's the last week we have for training. And they still haven't chosen the Volunteer yet, so we kinda need to get as much practice in as we can…" another boy muttered, oddly meek, as he scuffed his shoe against the tile.

There came a lot of similar comments from the rest of the group, and Isko's expression fell, utterly crushed. His imposing figure seemed to wilt.

This made the group even more uncomfortable, since he now resembled a kicked puppy. Isko always acted like a cheerful, massive, easily excited dog. Sometimes, people forgot that, since he was so imposingly big and strong.

"Boom, I brought your project here, just like you asked!" came a cheerful chirp from across the room. The entire group turned towards the disturbance.

It was one of Isko's younger brothers, Rizal. Isko's countenance brightened immediately, as he grinned widely at the thirteen year old. You could literally visualize the wagging tail and logging tongue on the older boy.

Meanwhile, Isko's fellow Career boys shrunk back in the most cowardly, unmanly manner possible. Rizal, despite his young age, was already 5 feet 9 inches, and about as beefy as his brother.

The damn giant-ness, which could only plausibly come from steroids, was literally genetic in the Barrius family. Even if most of the family were genuinely nice people, they had enough strength to snap the average person in half.

"Thanks, bud! I was just about to go down to the corner store to get the last things to complete it," Isko noted, voice full of enthusiasm, as he rubbed his younger brother on the head. He turned to his friends. "It's fine if you don't wanna come—you'll probably hear the end-result of my project anyways," he said, giving a booming, hearty laugh.

The two Barrius boys then rushed out of the Tribute Academy with all the subtlety of a filing cabinet crashing through the front window of a china shop, albeit with a bit more direction. This was how the trio of Barrius boys generally lived their lives.

Also, in an excitable, forgetful manner. Isko and Rizal **completely** forgot to get their middle brother, Jejomar, for their escapades. Oh well.

Soon enough, the two excitable boys were barreling into the front door of the corner store. The man at the register jumped about a foot in the air at the sudden intrusion. He stared at the door with wide eyes, looking like he was going to piss himself, at sight of the two beefy boys.

"There's only about two hundred dollars in the register!" the man shrieked, cowering, getting as far away from the register as the counter surrounding him would allow.

"That's cool, I guess," Isko noted with a somewhat confused smile, as he and his brother stepped further into the store.

The manager, at that moment, chose to rush out of the employee's back room because of the commotion. She had a tazer in her hand, but relaxed when she looked at the usual sight of the Barrius boys. They—particularly Boom—often frequented her establishment.

"God damn it, this is the third time this week," she grumbled under her breath, giving a sigh.

"Hello, Miss Manager!" the brothers exclaimed in unison, happily waving at the woman, who lamely raised her hand in acknowledgement. They then moved their way through a small aisle of the store, chatting, looking for the specific materials Isko needed.

The manager glowered at the cowering man at the register, giving a sigh. "I'll send you your check by tomorrow," she told him curtly. The man nodded frantically, eyes never leaving the sight of the two giants, and rushed out of the store, tripping over himself.

"Good thing I still kept those flyers for a new job opening…" the woman muttered, shaking her head, as she stepped behind the counter to take over the register duties.

The two boys were oblivious to the entire ordeal, only intent on their current search. After another five minutes, Isko's eyes brightened, catching sight of the last of the items he needed. The two rushed to the register, almost bulldozing down the two rows of shelves on each side of them. Isko quickly paid for his materials, and the two bolted out of the storefront with a cheerful goodbye to the woman.

Before long, Isko was sitting in a corner of the Tribute Academy's courtyard, his little brother keeping an eye out. They didn't want anyone else nearby—especially if they were intent to stop them.

Isko's hands moved deftly and professionally, despite their size. He added components every which way on the odd-looking item in his hands. Finally, he attached a cord that was three yards in length to the head of the object.

"Alright, let's set this up, and get a nice, safe view," Isko told his brother with a wide grin. Quickly, the two were in the middle of the thankfully empty courtyard, Isko setting the item down.

He took out a lighter from his pocket, and lit the very end of the cord. Then, the Barrius boys ran to the side of the Academy, peaking their heads around the corner. It would provide great cover, and they could still see the end result of Isko's little project.

When the flame was almost where the cord met the project, Isko gave the brightest, most shit-eating grin imaginable. "Boom," he stated.

And it did just that.

The explosion was **big**, and it was **loud**. The building seemed to quiver. Debris flew every which way, catapulting across the entire courtyard, some pieces managing to land on the roof. There was a small fire where Boom's explosive project had just been, and a lot of scorch marks on the pavement.

Boom, meanwhile, looked like Christmas had come early. His little brother was yelling about how **cool** the explosion had been, jumping in place excitedly.

Their excitement was short-lived, however. At that moment, two harried women exited the Academy, looking furious.

One was Jovlyn Barrius—their mother, and one of the Trainers at the Academy. The other was Riyo Sato—the founder of the Tribute Academy, and the Victor of the 14th Annual Hunger Games, herself.

"ISKO BOOM BARRIUS!" their mother roared, imposing figure looking particularly menacing. "AND NOT YOU **TOO**, RIZAL!"

"IT'S **ALWAYS** EXPLOSIVES WITH YOU! HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU TO JUST USE YOUR CLUB?!" Riyo screeched, stomping forwards, her long hair billowing behind her. She looked ready to skewer Boom alive.

Eshana Phoenix stuck her head out of a window, watching two physically imposing boys sprint away from the Academy, two furious women on their heels.

"Ah, that explains the noise…" she murmured, only vaguely interested, before she decided to step in for Riyo as Head Trainer for the next few minutes. After all, she distinctly heard the maniacal cackling of Zie Raquelle down the hallway…

* * *

**Calisto Cadbury, 16, District 6**

In a dark room lay three teenagers in a heap, on the floor. They were surrounded by various pillows and blankets, sleeping soundly despite their awkward positions, still fully-dressed from yesterday night.

The girl of the trio then gave a groan, stirring from her slumber. Her brown eyes looked blearily around, in the dark, before noting the two boys next to her.

She wriggled out of the cocoon of teenage limbs and blankets, standing over her two best friends. With a growing smirk, she marched straight to the window of Eirik's room, and ripped open the curtains.

"Rise and shine, boys!" she chirped loudly, making sure her voice encompassed the entire room.

Calisto watched in amusement as the two yelped and cursed and groaned from their positions on the floor.

"It wasn't my fault, I swear!" the dark-skinned blonde boy yelped loudly, shielding his face with his arms, in a vain attempt to get rid of the brightness.

"Fuck, just five more minutes," the brunette boy grumbled, burying his face in the blonde's chest, waving a hand in a shooing motion lazily.

"Wakey wakey, Eirik, Gavin!" Calisto said loudly, going over to awaken them. "It's a new day, so that means there's a new adventure waiting to happen!"

"I need some sugar to face the god-awful morning," Eirik grumbled, passing a hand through his hair, causing it to stand up on end.

"And a kiss would be nice, too," Gavin added with a small smile, opening up one of his eyes to gaze up at the girl.

"That's what I **implied**, Sunshine," Eirik drawled, rolling his eyes, flopping up into a sitting position.

"Geeze, I feel like I'm spoiling you two…" Calisto grumbled good-naturedly. However, she still bent down to kiss both of the boys. Right after, the two boys shared a kiss.

"Alright, I think I'm energized enough to do more stupid, insane bullshit," Eirik noted, stretching out his thin limbs.

"A lazy bum like you being **energized**? This must be a good day ahead of us, then," Calisto teased, ruffling his hair. He gave a whine, batting away her hand, and she laughed.

"Well, we **did** manage to break into the Tailor through the roof, last night…" the dark-skinned boy noted, a wide grin unfurling across his face.

"Which was damn lucky, mind you. Your plan didn't really help us much at all, mister-super-genius-planner. Things went south quickly," Eirick drawled, standing up and trying to organize his hair into something somewhat acceptable.

"Hehehe…Whoops. YOLO," Calisto said, wide smile in place, as she gave a small shrug unabashedly.

"The good thing was that we didn't get caught by the Peacekeepers," Gavin noted, a lopsided grin on his face, brown eyes shining. "We managed to pull off that stunt, so I say The Three Musketeers' mission was a success!"

At his exclamation, Calisto pulled the boys in for a victory high-five and hug.

"So, what're we doing next, Miss Leeroy Jenkins?" the brunette boy asked languidly, as the trio left his room via his window.

"I wanna climb up another roof!" Calisto exclaimed, brown eyes gleaming, as she gave her patented million-volt smile.

"Any ideas for location?" the dark-skinned boy asked, already looking like he was planning the stunt.

Evidently, she did. The girl dragged them excitedly to a square, two-story building that housed some type of shoe shop. The building was plain, but she took them to the side of it. There, the boys noted that the bricks and ledges made it perfect for climbing up.

"You've already had this planned out," Eirik deadpanned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Calisto gave a cheeky grin. "For a week already. Scouted out the place myself."

"How…?" the other boy wondered aloud, somewhat awed. "We're usually with you all the time…"

"I have my ways," she sing-songed, giving them a wink. "Kiss me for good luck?"

The two boys quickly pecked her on the lips, like she requested. However, Eirik still looked like he had his doubts.

"I don't know, Calisto…" he muttered, a frown on his face. Although, this wasn't a rare occurrence; he was the more reluctant, worrying member of their trio. "It's two stories, unlike the Tailor…"

"I'll be **fine**," she reassured him, with a nonchalant wave of her hand. "What's the worst that could happen?"

Apparently, bleeding everywhere wasn't something she considered as an outcome for her little scheme.

Because right when she got on the roof, she looked down over the edge, waving at her best-friends-slash-boyfriends. And at that moment, the ledge gave out on her. She ended up falling two stories, nicking her head along the way.

Calisto was now currently her side, with a head wound that was bleeding far much more than it hurt.

"Oh my god!" "Calisto, are you okay?!" The two boys rushed towards her, faces pale, babbling up a storm.

"She's not fucking okay, she's **bleeding**!" Eirik spit at his friend, gesturing wildly at Calisto's head wound.

"Oh my god, look at all the blood! She's gonna **die**!" the other boy wailed, pale despite his dark skin, grasping at his blonde hair.

"Boys…Boys, I'm fine," Calisto muttered, feeling only a bit bruised and lightheaded.

"Shit, I fucking knew this was a bad idea!" Eirik crowed, looking around wildly, not knowing what to do.

"She's too **young** to die!" his dark-skinned companion said hysterically, voice jumping in pitch, looking like he was ready to burst into dramatic tears.

"Um, guys? I'm fine, **really**. Honestly," Calisto tried to re-iterate, squinting at the two in confusion. "Calm the fuck down."

"We need to—We need to calm the fuck down. We can't think like this," Eirik told the other boy, taking him by the shoulders firmly.

"Hospital! There's a hospital nearby!" the blonde exclaimed, waving his hands around, like he was trying to pluck words from the air. "She can be saved!"

"Great thinking!" Eirik cried, before kissing his fellow male squarely, completely ignoring their third friend.

"You guys, I don't need to go to the **hospital**. Just take me back home…" Calisto muttered, in complete exasperation, trying to stem the flow of blood with her hand.

Gavin and Eirik ended up whisking Calisto to the nearby hospital, despite her exasperated protests. Oddly enough, it turned out that their hysterical hollering managed to somehow summon **Sirona freaking Minerals**, District Six's Victor, to heal Calisto.

"Overall, she's just a bit bruised. No concussion or serious injuries. The head wound was very shallow, and only looked more serious than it was. Head wounds tend to be like that, generally," Sirona explained calmly to the two previously hysterical boys.

They both sighed heavily in relief, as one. Calisto sat off to the side, rolling her eyes in fond exasperation. She was on the atypical cot most clinics and hospitals held, her head patched up.

"Although, I **will** commend you on your response time…" the woman noted with a small, lopsided smile. She turned to look at her patient. "You're very fortunate to have people that love you so dearly, Miss Calisto," she told the girl, her voice warm, and just a slight bit wistful.

"Thanks," the teen girl said with a grin. "I wouldn't trade these two morons for anything in the world. They're the probably the **best** best friends— and boyfriends—a girl could ever ask for."

* * *

**Gavin Cox, 18, District 5**

When Gavin Cox awoke that morning, the first thought in his head was "_I hope my parents are home_" followed swiftly by "_They probably left a note_".

He blearily got up, almost falling flat on his face; his long limbs were tangled magnificently in his blankets. Luckily, he didn't.

Crisis averted, Gavin stretched, standing at his whole 5 feet 11 inch glory. He languidly dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans. He passed a hand through his messy brown hair, moving most of it over to one side of his head with his fingers.

Eh, good enough. It's not like his parents were ever home to fuss about his appearance, anyways.

Gavin dressed in a laidback, casual way all the time, despite how well-off he was. He never felt the need to really impress anyone with his looks or clothes or wealth. One of the positives of his parents never being around was that he never got in the habit of being stuffy or proper, and could just…Stay comfortable.

And man, he loved his comfy clothes. If he was any more enamored with them, he'd just wear his pajamas everywhere.

The teen slowly meandered his way into his kitchen, looking at the fridge door. Yup, there was a note, right there. Guess that confirmed that his parents were working.

With a lazy shrug, Gavin opened the fridge to pour some milk in a bowl for his cereal. He also noted the shrinking contents of the refrigerator; he should probably go out to buy groceries soon.

Plus, some of those pre-cooked meals that Mrs. Himeldecker made. Her stuff was tasty, affordable, and she allowed him to take back pots full of the stuff. All he had to do for lunch and dinner most days was heat up the leftovers, then store them in the fridge. Easy peasy.

As he slowly padded over to the barren kitchen table, Gavin pondered over the last time he had actual food cooked by his mother. "Let's see…" he muttered distractedly, as he sat on his usual spot. "They work Monday through Friday, but they've been having problems the past two weeks at The Dam, plus…Add that togetheeeer…3 weeks and four days. Huh."

Gavin munched on his cereal contemplatively. Considering that his parents usually had to rush to their jobs at The Dam, and only left him money and the occasional groceries in the fridge, it wasn't surprising. The Dam was very old, and the workers constantly had to attend to problems that cropped up; it was a very important part of District Five, since it held their water supply, after all.

Actually, now that he thought on it, three weeks wasn't so bad! Ever since he hit eighteen, his parents considered him capable enough to be fine alone, even if he still wished they were home more often...

Well, he was doing pretty swell, if he did say so himself! Except for the fact that he didn't know the first thing about cooking, and kept burning everything he tried making.

"Ah, God bless pre-cooked meals and cereal, how I love thee…" Gavin noted with a fond smile, as he washed the dishes.

With nothing else to really do in his house, Gavin put his keys and some money in his pocket, and exited his very picturesque home. He walked down the front yard, past the white picket fence that surrounded the Cox home.

Then, Gavin darted across the streets of Five in reckless abandon, without a care in the world. Nothing ever happened to him when he did so, anyways; he was just too lucky and **nice** to ever get mugged. Plus, it helped that he was tall, held a bit of scruff on his face, and was pretty _handy_ when it came to a fistfight.

Gavin gave a few chuckles at the pun he thought in his head. Before long, he was making his way towards the pristine, yet very dull and cookie-cutter, Haycock house.

Gavin went around, peeking into the kitchen window, hoping that his best friend was up and already having breakfast. She always took a long time to wake up, so he cultivated the habit of looking through windows before having to enter the front door, like any other normal person.

As he suspected, Lindsey was sitting at the kitchen table. She was bleary-eyed, her long, blonde hair pulled up in a haphazard ponytail. She was downing a cup of coffee—almost as if it was a shot of alcohol, and she was at a bar.

The girl jolted in her seat when Gavin gave a playful tap on the windowpane. She gave a bright smile at the sight of her childhood friend, and quickly rushed out to meet him.

"Hey, Gavin! What's up?" Lindsey asked, blue eyes shining, as she looked up at him.

"Nothing much. Parents still working," Gavin said with a shrug, giving her a lopsided grin. "I was wondering if you wanted to _hang_."

He raised his eyebrows when he stressed the word, a smirk tugging at his lips. Lindsey darted a look over her shoulder, almost as if she was expecting her father to burst out of the door to question them.

"Well, we haven't done _that_ in what, a week?" she answered, with a small laugh.

"Five days, actually."

She gave him a sly grin. "Five days is too long. Let's go!" she exclaimed, grabbing his hand and rushing down the street.

One very excited, playful jog later, the two teens were standing in front of their favorite place to _hang_.

"Ah, the scent of sweat, sins, and tears," Gavin sighed dreamily, as the duo entered District Five's largest casino. "Like my bedroom!" he joked—which his best friend only responded with a hearty swat to the shoulder. "Yeesh, kidding, kidding!"

"Just gimme some cash for that Black Jack table," Lindsey demanded, proffering her hand to him, a fierce gleam in her eye. "Momma Lindsey needs a new pair of shoes for her Reaping dress."

Once he did so, she rushed over to try her hand at gambling through cards. Of course, she ended up losing all the money he gave her. When she fumed and complained at him over the injustice, he calmed her down, promising to get her those shoes she wanted.

The lanky boy casually strode over to the table full of intimidating-and-possibly-intoxicated men, bright grin on his face. "Hey, buds—can I play?" he asked, chipper, taking a seat at an empty stool before they could object.

The men shared looks with one another, oddly pale. They muttered lowly amongst themselves, shooting wide-eyed looks at Gavin. Who, for his part, simply sat there with a friendly smile on his face. He overheard their whispers, but tried to seem like he didn't; his growing, cocky grin kind of spoiled that image.

"_Luckiest Guy in Five, he calls himself_."

"_Never loses a gamble_."

"_Kid's what, eighteen? How's that even possible_?"

"_He's got God's fortune when it comes to gambling_."

Suffice to say, Gavin Cox had to quickly run out of the casino before he got mobbed. However, Lindsey Haycock got those new shoes she wanted, and Gavin was still confident in his luck and gambling proficiency.

* * *

**Clovis Essenerus, 17, District 10**

One tall, intimidating teen boy stalked the halls of his school. He glared and snarled at everyone; most shrank back, trying to seem unnoticeable. A meek girl trailed behind him, head ducked down, trembling slightly.

**No** one wanted to get on Clovis Essenerus' bad side, or catch his attention. He had no qualms with beating the shit out of you—whether to get something from you, make you fear him more, or because you looked at him funny. Women, and all those brave enough to stand up to him, got the worst treatment from him. And God forbid if you happened to be a girl who stood up to him…

That's what happened to Shannon, Clovis' current "girlfriend". She was a soft-spoken girl who had firmly stepped between him and a cowering twelve year old. She'd mustered the courage to tell him to stop harassing the little ones.

And she paid the price for her actions. Now, she was pretty much his servant.

Even the adults turned a blind eye to his actions. Clovis was built like a damn truck, in his 6 feet 1 inch, malicious glory. He didn't give a fuck if you were older and wiser, and technically held authority over him. He had no respect for adults or authority figures, and thusly, he was as aggressive and malicious to them as he was to his peers.

Plus, the entire deal that Clovis was loaded, in terms of District Ten. His parents co-owned a cheese factory, where a good number of people worked. It raked in quite a bit a bit of cash from the Capitol.

Anyone that's ever met the Essenerus family would feel baffled that Clovis was related to them. They were all kind, and on the short side; he was aggressive, and towering. If the family hadn't held such a strong resemblance to one another, one would think Clovis was adopted.

Clovis stopped suddenly, in the middle of the hallway. The entire hall held its breath, paralyzed, wondering who was the bully's next target.

The bully stomped over to a dark-skinned boy who was chatting happily with a redheaded girl, obviously oblivious to Clovis' advancement.

"**Maybe** if you give me yer money, I won't stop yer chattin'…**Forcefully**," Clovis threatened, cracking his knuckles for emphasis. Shannon quivered behind him.

The boy blinked up at him, a genial smile still on his face. His friend beside him, however, looked livid.

"And **maybe** if you back the fuck off, I won't punch you…**Forcefully**," the girl spit up at him, throwing his words back in his face.

"Mattie, no!" the boy next to her hissed, tugging her arm, keeping her from getting in the bully's face.

"He threatened you, Bart, for just fuckin' **talkin'!**" she crowed at him, before turning to the imposing boy once more, a sneer on her face. "What, are we so **lowly** that we can't even fuckin' **talk** in the presence of the cheese factory prince?"

Clovis' general look of '_forever pissed off_' morphed into one of '_I'm going to beat you to death_'. He snarled at Mattie, akin to that of a rabid animal, and brought his fist back.

Mattie shoved Bart away, and sidestepped Clovis' punch. He ended up hitting the wall.

Clovis cursed colorfully, nursing his bruised fist. The two friends ended up using this opening to bolt away from the enraged bully.

"COME BACK HERE!" Clovis roared, bulldozing after the duo. His sites were zeroed in on Mattie, as if he was a rampaging bull attracted to her red hair. "I'M GONNA KILL YOU DEAD, BITCH!"

Sharon jogged after her abusive boyfriend. When she found him, he was alone in the middle of the courtyard, head turning every which way wild wildly, trying to find his target.

He gave a long string of curses, having lost them. That wasn't surprising; Clovis was aggressive, but also very stupid. It was child's play for Mattie and Bart to end up tricking Clovis, and escape unscathed.

Clovis caught sight of Shannon, and stormed his way over to her.

To take out his pent-up energy and frustration from not being able to beat down the hot-tempered redhead that stood up to him, he did what he usually did to his girlfriend and little sister.

He beat her.

* * *

**Yohan Freesia, 16, District 6**

A teenage boy stalked through the streets of Six, sneer on his face. He bumbled through the twisting labyrinth of the District, peddling young children out of their pocket money like most bullies did.

How unoriginal.

Then the boy heard pathetic whines in an alleyway, and diverted his course into said alleyway. There, he found an abandoned litter of puppies.

With a gleam in his eyes, the boy took out a pocketknife, and stomped over to the poor creatures.

Oh, hell no. This lumbering moron wasn't thinking of doing **that**…Was he?

Apparently, he was. But the teen boy was doing something much worse than expected. Instead of just killing a puppy like a power-hungry meathead, he started to _skin it alive_.

Mayday, mayday, future serial killer in our midst! Ah, the sweet, sweet irony…

When the puppy was already limp in the ferocious boy's hands, a shadow lunged at him from behind.

Five minutes later, Yohan Freesia cleaned his gloved hands with a rag, tossing it on the limp body of the psychopathic bully who'd decided to kill puppies on **his** watch. The bully's body was arranged neatly and serendipitously in the alleyway, behind an overflowing trash bin.

Yohan packed up his supplies—the small circuit box, wires, and length of rope—and hid it once more on his person. All of the money the other boy had peddled from his victims was safely on Yohan's person, as well.

Well, that went surprisingly well. He didn't even need to take out his hidden knife. Although, he would've wished for there to be less blood, because of the casualty…

Oh well. Now District Six had to deal with one less person that abused the weak. That makes is 15 truly awful people that Yohan's delivered justice to. Probably more than any Peacekeeper has done in their tenure…

Honestly, he could understand older teens picking on younger children. That was pretty much part of the unofficial job description of being a bully. The money stealing? Sure. Fights? Alright. Extreme physical abuse? Awful, but still sadly common.

But _killing puppies_? The **horror**!

And not even just killing puppies—even though that was bad enough, and almost ludicrously evil, like a fictional villain—but _skinning them alive_!

Really, that was the scraping the barrel, right there. Babies were the weakest of the weak, because it was a rare chance for a baby **anything** to be able to defend themselves from slaughter.

Yohan bent down and gently gathered the whining litter of puppies in his arms, taking a long look at the dark, dreary alleyway.

"Justice has been served," he whispered, before giving a small look down at the wriggling masses in his arms. "I'll find you a nice, rich house to adopt you, alright?" he told the puppies, as if they could understand him.

So Yohan Freesia walked the streets of Six, arms full of a litter of puppies. And let me say, have you ever seen a 5 feet 9 inch half-Asian boy with patched clothing and a creepy, dark look on his face, walk down the street with his arms overflowing with puppies? No?

Well, it was incredibly odd. Which explained the blatant stares Yohan was getting.

Yohan was almost tempted to start shoving puppies onto the arms of random passerby, saying "_And you get a puppy, and you get a puppy, and __**all**__ of you get a puppy!_" with over-the-top cheer. Just so it would creep people out more, seeing the usually dark, socially-inept boy start acting like that Oprah woman from the Capitol.

But he refrained. That wouldn't fit in with his usual, darkly comical character. He had a **reputation** to uphold.

Yohan ended up going to random houses that looked moderately well-off. He'd put down a puppy on the doorstep, ring or knock on the door, and then bolt. Almost like a prank, or a bastardized version of Santa Claus.

Well, the District **did** need a little cheer, since it was almost time for the annual Reaping…

Yohan hid around the corner of the last home he visited, snickering silently at the conversation that broken out from his little 'gift'.

"Oooooh, a puppy!" exclaimed a girl.

"Calisto, put the damn puppy down," groused the grumpy voice of a teen boy.

"I dunno, I've always wanted a puppy…" said another male voice, this one jovial.

"Oh god damn it, not you too, Gavin!" exclaimed the grumpy boy.

"Hey, you think we can use this little guy for our future plans?" asked the girl.

"No. You're going to get the poor thing hurt from your zany schemes. I'm putting my damn foot down," said grouchy-boy, who seemed to be the most intelligent amongst the trio of friends.

"Haha, well it looks like our little pup isn't…!" said the jovial boy.

Soon, the sound of urination, one cursing teen boy, and two other laughing teens filled the silence. Yohan smirked as he slowly snuck away.

Yohan slunk off back to the slums of District Six. His hands were stuffed deeply in his pockets, to stifle the cheery clink of coins in his pockets, and he ducked his head down. You never know who was desperate enough to steal from their fellow starving man, in these streets.

Soon enough, Yohan noted that he was being followed. He stiffened, walking at a slightly quicker pace, one eye on his destination and one eye on his surroundings.

But rather than a mugger, he got a genial call of "comrade!" and a hearty clap on the shoulder. Yohan relaxed his stiff posture as his friend Kolo bounded next to him, his usual grin on his tanned face.

Kolo Mita. Playboy, tanned, clean-cut, towering, muscular, rich lower class. And a loyal 'comrade', who talked endlessly with Yohan over one day creating an idealistic, perfect world.

It was the oddest damn friendship, since they were pretty much polar opposites, if not for that last part. But that last part made a strong bond between the two 16 year old boys. They both wanted a world without poverty or weakness, full of fairness and justice.

Yohan had considered making him the Robin to his Batman, as it were, but there was one problem: Kolo wasn't as driven. He didn't have Yohan's exact brand of justice. And Yohan certainly never told him of his odd, somewhat genius, vigilante bullshit shenanigans.

Because for all he knew, Kolo could turn into Gotham's Police Force on his ass. That, or take over the role of Batman. Since he, y'know, was more fitting for the part, strength-wise. And looks-wise, height-wise, wealth-wise…

Huh, it really **was** a miracle that they were such close friends…

Yohan blocked out Kolo's babbling, all the way to his ramshackled home. Then Kolo bid him farewell, and bounded off somewhere. Probably to pick up chicks.

Yohan entered his home, making sure to re-lock the door behind him properly. He ghosted towards the kitchen, his eyes passing over the family portraits that hung on the walls, like he did every day. And like every time, he turned a bit somber at the sight of his dead parent's wedding photo.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, he entered the small kitchen. He was surprised to see the dusty blonde mop of his friend Avery—who was pretty much his sister, at this point, since she stayed at the Freesia home almost daily to escape her abusive parents—sitting at one of the rickety chairs. Yohan's thirteen year old sister, Lily, literally jumped in her chair when he entered the room.

"Yohan!" Lily exclaimed, eyes wide, looking like she was torn between grinning and frowning.

"Hey," Avery noted with a grin, a questioning look in her eyes.

Yohan smiled at them—one of his true, genuine smiles— as he took out all the money from his pockets, laying it on the table.

"As you can see, my little batty gambit worked. How about some soup for dinner?"

An hour later, the three were sitting at the worn kitchen table, talking warmly and eating their watered-down soup with a small piece of Tessera-grain bread.

Justice never tasted so good.


	6. Intros: One Day

**AN**: I hope you all had happy holidays! I was busy with family, cooking, food, and video games. Whoops. But I'm back, and churning out these Intros!

Some of these were tricky for me to write. I struggled a bit with characterization, so if these feel subpar compared to prior chapters, that's probably why. Also, I feel like I should bump up the rating because of Vamiya alone…

The Tributes this chapter are**: Ginny, Devon, Malcolm, Lex, Liseli, **and** Vamiya**. Also, warning: language, girls kissing, self doubt, argumentative smartasses, punching. And underage sex, sexual acts, creepy seduction from a young teenager, mental instability (all from Vamiya).

* * *

Intros: One Day (until Reaping)

* * *

**Regina Gabriella 'Ginny' Saunders, 18, District 1**

A lone girl jogged amongst the tidy, paved streets of District One. The sun was barely rising in the sky, slowly showering the world with a soft glow of light, slowly bleeding the sky with mesmerizing colors. Even amongst the barren morning, the long-legged teen wasn't concerned about being alone. She could defend herself, if the need arose.

The girl eventually reached the very edge of her province, stopping before the fence. She took a moment to stare up at the towering structure, wondering if she could ever go past the fence to the fortune that lay beyond. After all, the Capitol was just a skip away…

Ginny gave a small shake of her head, and prepared to jog down the way she came.

On the way back to her considerably well-groomed home, she noted the stirrings of citizens in their homes. By the time she was back in her room, it was already 7 in the morning. Seven miles by 7 a.m.; her usual routine.

She stepped into the bathroom attached to her bedroom. Without much preamble, she shrugged off her jogging clothing and stepped into the shower. She quickly washed away all the sweat she accumulated on her skin, not bothering to go through the large hassle of properly preening and washing her hair. It went down to her damn waist, and was a pain to shampoo and dry.

Ginny stepped out of the shower, quickly drying her body with a soft towel and dressing in sensible clothing for the day. She swiftly parted her hair, and with deft fingers, weaved her signature two braids.

By the time it hit 7:30 sharp, Ginny was finishing a quick breakfast with her parents. Once the last bit of her glass of juice was drained, she stood to leave.

"Where are you going, Ginny?" asked her father, Franklin David Saunders, inquisitively. A mug of coffee was halfway to his mouth.

"To the Tribute Academy," she answered curtly, as she rushed over to place her dirty dishes in the sink. "Since we don't have school today."

"Regina Gabriella—tomorrow is the Reaping!" her mother, Allison, gaped. "Whatever could you **possibly** learn in one day? Shouldn't you stay here, and spend some time with us…?"

The teen quirked an eyebrow at her parents, crossing her arms sassily. "Most days of my life, you two'll do anything to get my energetic ass out of the house, so I don't start bouncing off the walls. And **now** you want me stay cooped up at home…?"

Her father disguised an amused cough behind his cup of coffee, saying a small remark about watching her language. Her mother, meanwhile, wilted slightly at her daughter's completely true words.

The woman gave a concerned bite of her lip. "Oh…Well, I suppose you can't keep your friends at the Training Academy waiting…" acquiesced the woman who mirrored her daughters looks, bar hair color.

"Nope—Especially Lilyanne," Ginny agreed promptly. Inside, she was glad that her mother was the type of person that gave up too easily. It made Ginny's life much easier, in many respects.

Her father mumbled something about "_troublesome skateboarding lesbian teens_" into his coffee, as his daughter darted out of the kitchen and towards the entryway of their home. At said entryway, there was a haphazard pile of protective padding, a large blue helmet, and three pairs of tennis shoes.

Ginny yanked on a random pair of shoes, slid and strapped on her helmet, and grabbed the skateboard that was perched on the wall. She completely bypassed the padding—something her worrisome mother usually harked on her to wear. But Ginny didn't need it, really; she'd been skateboarding since she was 8, and already knew all the dangers and maneuvers when it came to skating.

Ginny exited her home, lazily skating in a languid wave pattern along the sidewalk. After all, her destination was only a few yards from her own front door.

The girl kick flipped on the small steps of her neighbor's door. She smoothly kicked up her board, propping it on her hand, and gave a small series of distinct raps on the front door.

Soon, she heard the muffled voice of her favorite person in the world, before the door swung open.

"Ginny, hey!" said the girl with a pretty, heart-shaped face. She quickly pulled back her straight, white-blonde hair in its signature ponytail, a bright smile on her face. "Parents hold you up?"

Ginny grinned, quickly dipping her head down to kiss the girl who was her girlfriend, best friend, and neighbor since childhood. "Hey Lilyanne—and, yeah, they did. Mostly just Mom, though; you know how worried she gets."

Lilyanne Noelle Dunston gave a chiming laugh. "But she let's everything slide, anyways."

"Yup," Ginny noted, amused, before jerking her head back towards the sidewalk. "Let's head on out. Victor Mediah's going to announce who's going to Volunteer tomorrow."

Lilyanne gave a small sigh, a sad look crossing her face momentarily, replaced quickly by an irritated pout. "You better carry me or something, then," she said, motioning to her left leg.

Lilyanne's left leg was in a thick cast, currently broken from a skating accident about a week and a half ago. This had caused a small spat between the usually tight-knit couple, mostly consisting of Ginny reprimanding her girlfriend for her love of taking risks.

As such, Lilyanne's been unable to move around quickly, much less skate. Which makes her very irritable; she's loves skateboarding and is just as energetic as Ginny.

Ginny tilted her head slightly, staring at her girlfriend, thinking over the best course of action. They were already running late, and the Tribute Academy opened at 8 a.m. Victor Mediah was a very punctual man, and told all the regular students that he was going to announce the names chosen to Volunteer promptly after the Academy opened for the day.

Ginny stepped off the steps of the building, and got on her skateboard. Lilyanne looked hurt, at the sight of her girlfriend seemingly getting ready to leave her.

But then Ginny spread her arms, looking pointedly at her girlfriend. "Come on, then. This'll be great practice for when we get married, and I carry you in our new house," the dark-haired girl said, giving a cheeky smile to the gaping blonde.

Tentatively, the blonde hobbled over, closing the door behind her. Ginny swiftly bent down and swept the shorter girl in her arms, bridal style. The same cheeky smile was on her face, while her girlfriend blushed, arms wrapped around her neck tightly.

"Get comfy, Lils, because I don't want to drop you at any point," Ginny intoned, as her girlfriend squirmed slightly to get comfortable. Throughout this entire time, Ginny's arms held strong, and she was still perfectly balanced on her board, never wavering even once.

Once the blonde assented that she was ready, Ginny gave a wide grin, and quickly sped off down the sidewalk. Her girlfriend laughed and whooped, as Ginny masterfully maneuvered them through the streets, the wind rushing in their faces as they zipped towards the Tribute Academy.

* * *

**Devon Mahone, 18, District 1**

From the moment Devon awoke, he went through his daily routine flawlessly. Wake up at half past 6, take a quick shower, change, comb his hair. He would primp himself, everything picture-perfect and proper.

Then, he would go down to the kitchen to start the coffee machine, set the table, and help make breakfast. Of course, he would naturally make his mother's preferred breakfast first—egg white omelet with diced tomatoes, with a cup of coffee that held half a teaspoon of vanilla and two creams.

His mother would then croon at him, smoothing down his perfectly-combed hair, telling him honestly of how wonderful he's made everything. He'd then promptly go to wake up his step-father, step-brother, and half-sister to tell them the food was ready.

He would be polite at the table, following the high etiquette his mother drilled in him since birth. He would smile and please his family, calm, even in the face of his detested step-father, who would jab at him passive-aggressively.

Then Devon would happily make small talk with his adored siblings, before toting the family's dishes to the sink, to the ever-present delight of his mother. Then, he'd inform his family that he would be off with his girlfriend.

"Where will you two be heading today?" Sansa Mahone asked him, eyes calculating, as her son bent down to give her his usual kiss on the cheek.

"To the Tribute Academy," Devon answered promptly, brightening at his mother's pleased smile.

"Why'd you need to go today, Devon? You're already super big and strong," little Kalia piped up from her perch on a nearby couch, bouncing up towards her half-brother.

"Because each day of training will only make me bigger and stronger," Devon intoned, giving a smile down at the 8 year old, and a fond rub on the head. She giggled, shaking her blonde pigtails, brown eyes shining.

"That's my Devon. Such a hardworking gentleman," Sansa noted proudly, looking up at her son, straightening in her 5 feet 2 inch glory. "With your cool head and charm, it shouldn't be a problem to wrap your future District partner around your little finger."

Devon colored, giving such a bright grin that he almost seemed to glow. It meant a lot to him that his mother praised him, not to mention was so assured that he'd be chosen by Victors Mediah and Angel to Volunteer tomorrow.

"Of course, Mother. Just as you'll expect. Everything will be perfect," Devon told her lovingly, even as his step-father muffled a snort in the background.

With encouragement from his ever wonderful siblings, Devon left their well-groomed home, on the way to visit his girlfriend Esmeralda Platina. He always arrived at her home in a timely manner so they could head together to the Tribute Academy, to meet up with the rest of their friends.

Before long, he was in front of Esmeralda's doorstep. He strode up to the front door, rung the doorbell, and waited, arms held behind his back.

Soon, a blonde-haired teen girl with tanned skin opened the door, beaming up at Devon. He greeted her with a warm smile, before dipping down to give her a quick kiss.

"You look lovely. How are you this morning?" he asked her courteously, as he always did every morning.

"Good—a bit nervous and excited," Esmeralda told him with a smile, seeming a bit jittery as she stepped out of her home.

"I am too," he admitted, as he took her hand in his, meandering down the street with her. Devon gave a shaky exhale of breath—the first external sign showing how truly nervous he was.

"I…Hope I'm good enough. I've trained since the Academy opened, but…" here, he bit he lip, eyes distant.

He remembered all that led up to this point—his father leaving them, his mother being devastated, her remarrying the rich and shallow Matheu Trinati, training the very day the Tribute Academy was established, training with his best friends, getting together with Esmeralda.

This was all leading up to one event; entering the Hunger Games, and winning. But could he actually do it? Could he be good enough to be able to Volunteer, much less win the Hunger Games? How could he earn that honor, when he could barely earn his own mother's love—

Esmeralda reached up to place a kiss on his jaw, pulling him from his dark spiral of conflicted, self-loathing thoughts.

"I may not want to Volunteer, wanting something more than a possible death in the Games…But I **know** that Victor Mediah will see your strength and worth, and you'll Volunteer and win," Esmeralda told him firmly, her dark brown eyes showing the depth of her emotion, as she gripped even tighter to his hand.

Devon let out a breath, and gave her a small grin. "Thanks. I needed that."

Before the couple could say anything else, they were almost bowled over by a dark-haired girl riding a skateboard, who was carrying a blonde girl in her arms. However, Devon reacted in time to sidestep the incoming couple, pulling his girlfriend away and shielding her.

Esmeralda let out a shaky breath, clutching at her abdomen, as she stared down the street. "I don't think you're the only one that's nervous about being able to Volunteer…" she noted.

The two hastened their pace, and were soon in front of the Tribute Academy, joining the crowd of hopeful teens that were surrounding the entrance.

"Damn, everyone's in such a buzz!" exclaimed a loud voice next to Devon. He turned, and grinned at the sight of the ever-loud butcher's son, Jensen.

"Most want to see if their training will pay off or not," intoned Helius right behind Jensen, fist bumping Devon's unoccupied hand, like they normally did.

"Well, that's stupid—since Devon's going to **obviously** be chosen," Jensen boomed, a wide grin in place. "And then **I'll** be their choice for next year!"

Devon's smiled wavered slightly. He liked Jensen—he was a good friend, energetic, and fun—but sometimes his big mouth and arrogance made him question his choice in befriending the shaggy-haired blonde. Devon never liked hot-headed, brash, loud-mouthed Career trainees, because he was the exact opposite of them.

Then again, he never liked many people in general, even if he never exactly showed it. People were two-faced. Hell, Devon always felt unsure of other people— simply because he never knew when people befriended him for who he was and could trust him, or for material reasons.

Just as Devon was about to psychoanalyze himself, the front entrance suddenly opened dramatically. There stood Victors Angel Shine and Mediah Flash, seeming so powerful and dazzling, that one could mistake them for ethereal beings.

The entire mob of teens became dead-silent.

"As promised, the results!" Mediah crowed, his voice carrying across the entire area. Beside him, his wife passed him a clipboard, giving a pretty smile to the crowd.

Everyone seemed to hold their breath, as the man's gaze flickered down to the paper in his hands.

"The runner-ups, who will Volunteer in the case of the top chosen students being unable to do so, are…Verity Hart and Helios Mayers."

A girl—who must have been Verity—gave a strangled squeal. Helios and Jensen, beside Devon, made dumbfounded noises at those results. Devon gave a small pat on Helios' shoulder, to comfort his best friend. Helios never wanted to Volunteer, only training with Devon to hang out, but was a great fighter.

"Now, our Volunteers for this year's Games are…" Angel intoned, and the married couple stretched out the seconds to build the suspense.

"Regina Gabriella Saunders and Devon Mahone," Mediah stated at last, a small smirk on his bearded face as he watched the reactions of the crowd.

Many wails of dismay and curses came from the crowd. Regina Gabriella merely snorted, but smiled as her girlfriend gave her an enthusiastic hug and exclamation in congratulations.

Devon, meanwhile, was bombarded by his friends and girlfriend. He gave a relieved smile as he was pulled into a group hug.

"As always, the Tribute Academy will be opened for today. Good luck tomorrow for the Reapings!" Mediah said loudly, to be heard across the loud crowd. Quickly, he and his wife hurried inside the building— most likely to lower the chances of them getting mobbed.

With vigor, Devon went inside and trained, to get in as much last-minute preparation as he could.

* * *

**Malcolm Fritz, 17, District 3**

District Three was a District known for their industry of technology, as well as their love of learning and their intelligence. As such, school was usually a very important affair, a majority of the students eager to learn. After all, bolstering your intelligence made you smarter, and school was a perfect place to do so.

However, schools were also a prime place for arguments and competition. Many students clashed with one another, wanting to one-up the other when it came to intelligence or wits. When it came to school, those weak, tiny, nerdy, awkward kids that made up a good percentage of the populace? They became **vicious**. Whether outright, passive-aggressively, or silently, you could bet that some time somewhere in the education system in District Three, there was a student trying to show that they were better than one or more of their peers.

One such student was trying to do so. He was trying to show that he was the most intelligent person in the room, and prove his teacher wrong.

This belligerent boy had no respect for authority figures, especially if they were unable to outwit him in an argument. In all his seventeen years, only **one** teacher had ever matched wits with him, and the man was one of the few people to ever convince the boy that he was **wrong** on certain occasions.

And the current teacher he was grilling had not yet earned his respect, or proven himself. So far, the teen considered the increasingly irritated man to be sub-par, at best.

"Just because the questions are of _theory_," Malcolm Fritz started contemptuously to his teacher, "should not allow the incorrigible disaster of students learning farfetched information! You are a man of _education_, sir—how can you stand for such poisonous, criminally incorrect drivel to end up in our precious curriculum?"

"Look, Mister Fritz," the man at the head of the room started, teeth grinding. "I don't make the curriculum, and the feasibility of these _practice questions_ was not a problem to the intelligence of student **before**—"

"But allowing something so completely incorrect to still be allowed in the curriculum in the **first** place is utter **rubbish**. It is a shame to this course!" Malcolm crowed, crossing his arms. "How could any of this be correct, in any way, shape, or form? It is a phantom of the lesson that we deserve on such a vital subject. Why would you allow for this injustice to stay lurking amongst the worksheets? Honestly, I will demand a proper answer—what say you, sir?"

During Malcolm's arrogant spiel, the teacher's face steadily grew red. Finally, the man lost his temper, and yelled at the seat in the front row that the boy sat, "_Because I said so_!"

The entire class at large gave a loud groan, many covering their faces.

Malcolm always did this—question and argue with the teacher, always trying to prove them wrong. He just always pushed and pushed… He simply gets his kicks from disagreeing with others, backing them into a corner, and getting a rise out of them.

And Heaven help the poor soul who isn't prepared with a better counter-argument than something along the lines of "_because I said so_". Because usually by that point, shit hits the fan, and Malcolm will drill on and on over how paltry such reasoning is.

"God **damn** it, Fritz!" screeched a girl with an upturned nose and straight black hair, who sat at the back of the room. "None of us have the patience to listen through any more of your stupid shit!"

Many classmates bitterly mumbled in assent, nodding and agreeing with the annoying girl. Vulca Spark was a pompous bitch, but they could agree with her on one thing: Malcolm's debates were frustrating as hell, and they were **sick** of them.

It was even **more** frustrating today, of all days. This class was the last of the day, and it was the last day of school for the week; tomorrow was the Reaping, and they had the day off.

Despite the general love of learning in District Three, having days off was a rare blessing that many cherished. Also, many would need to emotionally prepare themselves for the Reaping, and try to spend as much time as they could with their families.

But Malcolm didn't care about his classmates and their less than stellar opinions on him. He enjoyed pissing others off, and winning arguments.

Plus, his family had split off spectacularly, so he really had no family to spend the looming Reaping with. Last year, his sister Felicity got pregnant before marriage at seventeen, and was promptly disowned by his parents. After a few months, she came back begging for him to help her, dirty, beaten, and having suffered a miscarriage. Malcolm was the only family and option she had left, since she was abandoned by everyone, even her boyfriend.

Malcolm nicked a large sum of money his parents had hidden, and gave it to her, out of pity. His parents found out, and disowned him as well. But his actions saved his sister, and gave him the independence he always wanted. If only the two hadn't gotten on each others nerves so spectacularly to the point of shouting during their stint of sharing an apartment, he might have been able to spend time with at least **one** family member for today and tomorrow…

But that was the thing: Malcolm was a disowned, argumentative, pessimistic smartass. He wouldn't have even wanted to spend the Reaping with family, so the loss didn't bother him.

Just as the he was ready to start drilling his furious teacher further, the bell rang.

"Finally! The sweet, sweet bell!" Vulca screeched dramatically, throwing her hands up in the air. The entire class seemed grateful and relieved for the end of class, and thusly, of Malcolm Fritz being an irritating genius.

Malcolm simply shrugged, shooting a smirk at the fuming buffoon that was his Engineering teacher. He swiftly gathered his things, slinging his bag on his shoulder, and exited the room with long strides. He pointedly ignored his classmate's complaining, heading over to the Advanced Mathematics classroom to meet his favorite teacher.

As he poked his head into the empty classroom, Malcolm noted that Professor Kingsley should honestly stop listening to music. The old man was singing as he put away a stack of papers in his old satchel. His singing was off-key, not to mention that Malcolm found music trivial and irritating.

But of course, Amadeus Kingsley was human, and had his flaws: music was one of them.

"Ah, Malcolm, my boy!" the old man exclaimed, eyes bright, as he noted his favorite pupil in the room. "Are you ready to head home?"

The tall teen grinned down at him, towering over the wizened man at 5 feet 10 inches. "Yes, of course, Professor."

"Then let us be off!" the old man stated, and the two meandered out of the building together.

As the two walked down the street, the sun beating down on them, Professor Kingsley started to sing out-of-tune once more.

"_I'm walking on sunshiiiine, whoaaaaa! I'm walking on sunshiiiiine, whoaaaa! And don't it feel good!_" the feeble man belted, seeming almost younger from his bright, happy cadence.

Malcolm rolled his eyes fondly, a bit embarrassed. But ultimately, he didn't mind it; despite this quirk, Professor Kingsley was a truly great man that had earned his respect.

And honestly, Malcolm was lucky to be able to have someone like him to spend the day with, much less live with.

* * *

**Lex Calder, 16, District 4**

The children in District Four were restless today.

Tomorrow was the Reaping, after all. Despite the Training Center Victor Festus created, many were still worried over being chosen.

Also, others were curious on who would Volunteer. Who considered themselves strong and prepared enough to go into the Hunger Games, with the minimal amount of training they had?

The Training Center wasn't very strenuous, compared to Districts One and Two. It was very casual, and not many teens were strictly committed to a training regime. Most that attended were just kids that were curious about the place, who tried it out because it was new and a fad. It was just a movement that was gaining popularity, and most children of Four were busier helping out in their industry or playing amongst the beautiful sights of the District, than to attend the Training Center daily.

But still, the Training Center was always advertised and talked about, across Four. More and more kids started to hang out at the Training Center with their friends. Everyone was starting to warm up to the idea.

Some went out of boredom. Some went because they were urged by parents or family. Some went to learn how to protect themselves. Some went to gain an extra bit of knowledge and preparation, in case they were ever Reaped. Some went so they could meet up with friends. Some—mostly tittering fangirls— went to be able to meet with Festus Marsh in person, to actually talk to him or touch him.

And some went because they truly enjoyed it. That was a very small minority amongst the children of Four, but it was slowly, slowly growing each passing year. These few truly enjoyed fighting, who were considering Volunteering for the Hunger Games.

Lex Calder was one of these few.

The day of the Training Center's grand opening, Lex was there, ready to learn. Ready to train. Ready to fight.

Since he was young, Lex had been trained in boxing by his gruff father. Any type of brawling for sport or profit was a bit of an underground activity rink in the Districts. What could be a hobby or a way to eat for some, was a thing of passion for Lex.

And so, Lex had gone to the Training Center that first day, almost four years ago, ready to show Victor Festus his passion. There weren't any official rings, or any boxing gloves, but he still showed his stuff.

Lex's actions had sparked Festus to set up some rings, spaces for hand-to-hand combat, and an inclusion of boxing into the curriculum. Lex's father was hired as the trainer for boxing. Under the man's tutelage, proper equipment, and an audience, Lex's skills flourished.

So, all things considered, it made sense that Lex Calder was arrogant and narcissistic. Lex had always been independent and somehow self-possessed, having been taught not to betray himself to emotions as a child. He fancied himself one of the stronger trainees, and had helped to introduce regimes for hand-to-hand combat. Then, there was the fact that he was attractive, painting himself as a big and strong ladies man.

It honestly didn't help that Lex was the best boxer, and beat any opponent. Because his ego just kept getting bigger, and he was on top of the world.

"C'mon, Gavin!" Lex taunted, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, watching his friend across the ring. "You've got to try harder to land a hit on me! Stop being such a loser!"

Gavin Detrench, Lex's good friend and fellow boxer, snarled as he quickly snapped his fist forwards towards the other boy. Lex merely sidestepped, quickly bringing his glove to give a teasing tap to his friend's shoulder.

"If you keep losing your cool, your punches will keep getting sloppier. It happens every time, man; what, you too stupid to figure it out?" Lex intoned sarcastically, easily dodging another sloppy attempt at a hit.

"Lex, stop riling him up!" barked a voice at the side of the ring. Lex retreated slightly from his opponent to send a wink towards a dark-skinned girl standing at the side of the ring.

"Not my fault that Gavin's a hot-head with shitty form, Leila!" Lex replied, giving a charming smile at her. Leila rolled her eyes in response.

"Hey, keep your eyes on **me**!" the other boy ordered, swiftly giving a punch. This one actually connected, since Lex had been distracted, but the hit boy quickly retaliated with his own jab.

"My bad. But you've got to admit, Leila's easier on the eyes than you are. You're not exactly attractive," Lex joked with a smirk, throwing his head at her direction. His black hair shifted slightly out of his brown eyes, and the sweat that been accumulated on his brow flung off to the side.

"Oi, it's creepy when you hit on me, Lex," Leila told him, crossing her arms. "You already do it on every other damn girl!"

"She's got a point, man," Gavin snorted, looking somewhat amused, as he laxly tried to jab at opponent.

"What can I say? I'm just that damn charming," Lex smirked, also now half-heartedly sending jabs to his opponent. "I've gotta keep up my chivalry for all my fans; being the best is a **huge** responsibility."

At that, Lex gave another jab, and then called the end of the match. His friend gave a somewhat frustrated shrug of his shoulders, and the two stepped out of the ring to rest.

Leila came over with towels and bottles of water for the both of them, shaking her head. Her long black hair swished about her, and the two teen boys gave her their thanks.

"Honestly, sometimes I wish I didn't take turns holding the punching bag for you, when we were training," she said lightly to Lex, giving him a playful kick. "Maybe then, I wouldn't constantly be drilled by your crazy fangirls for being your best friend."

"That's just a sacrifice you have to make, for being in the constant presence of _this_," here, Lex gestured to his muscular body with one hand, almost as if he was showing off a drool-worthy prize. But then he gave a small frown, as he added, "If they bother you too much, I'll try and talk to them. Can't have those bitches try and burn you at the stake because you're chill enough to be my best friend, yeah?"

Leila gave a mellow shrug, a lopsided grin on her face. "I wouldn't expect any less from you."

Lex ended up finishing his training for that day, and headed home, feeling confident in himself. If he Volunteered tomorrow, he'd be ready.

* * *

**Liseli Avere, 18, District 9**

As the school bell's chimes fell quiet, the girl with the red-blonde hair studiously turned in her finished work to the teacher. The harried woman took a quick look down at the paper, giving a small smile and nod to the girl.

"Excellent work again, Liseli," the teacher told the girl, who lifted her chin proudly. The blonde expected the praise; she was prideful and intelligent, after all. The woman then turned to take in the rest of the papers from other students, as Liseli exited the classroom.

She was intent on finding her friends, so that they could chat whilst they headed off to the fields for another day of work. The three treasured the time they had together, the time they were able to speak freely before having to stay silent during their fieldwork.

Weaving through the meandering mass of students, the thin girl finally spotted the well-known mop of dark brown hair that belonged to Felix. Zero-ing in on the sight, she accidentally smashed straight into someone.

Liseli managed to catch her balance, but felt winded. She was only 133 pounds, and although she wasn't weak, she still held a thin frame. She looked at the boy in front of her, noting how he seemed even weaker than her, but was her exact same height.

Ah, she knows him. Azrael Rachaye. The pariah of the District. Bit hard to forget him. Especially that pained look he always held on his face.

The kid had some deep issues, but that wasn't exactly her concern for now. Sure, she encouraged the weak, and was sympathetic to people's plights, but this kid had enough emotional baggage to fill a trash truck.

And she knew her limits. Being overtly kind and helpful will only make the kid cling to her, which would cause all types of problems. If she had to throw him under the bus to make sure her family wouldn't be affected for any backlash in associating with him, she'd do it. She'd do anything to keep the Averes afloat, even if she had to hurt or shun another person to do it.

Plus, if she dillydallied for too long, she'd make her friends late for work. That wasn't very responsible.

So the entire time that the two teens had spent, staring at each other—Azrael with that pained look on his face, cringing, as if he was ready for her to yell at him, despite it being **her** fault for slamming into him—it was in total silence. Finally, Liseli spoke.

"Sorry for slamming into you, kid," she told him, eyeing him calculatingly. Then she clapped him on the shoulder—making the guy flinch and jump. She already regretted the action, especially when her mind started to think some very snide, relentless thoughts.

God, he was pathetic. She knew she was known as the prideful, determined girl who took no one's shit, ready to rip people a new one with her swift and realistic jabs. But still. She knew when to control herself and back down from conflict, and didn't bully or harass anyone unless it was absolutely necessary.

The boy started to stutter something, but she simply gave him another pat on his shoulder, and he quickly quieted. "Hang in there. Good luck with tomorrow," she told him, a small snort escaping from her. "You're gonna need it."

Then she maneuvered around him, going straight towards her two friends, who were eyeing her curiously.

"What was that about?" Felix asked her quietly, his usually bored face looking intrigued.

"Nothing. Just apologizing for ramming into the poor guy," Liseli told them calmly, face perfectly neutral, even when her other friend started giggling.

Liseli raised an eyebrow, looking down at her short, blonde friend. Nadia gave her a wide grin, and then looked from Liseli's face, to over her shoulder, and back again.

"He's still standing there, staring at you, you know," Nadia said in a loud whisper, in her usual air headed manner.

Liseli took a quick look over her shoulder. Azrael was, indeed, staring at her. He then flushed, noting her look, and quickly scurried away.

Liseli looked back at her friends, and shrugged nonchalantly. "I also told him good luck. Kid looked like he needed it," she stated, before gesturing at them. "C'mon, we'll be late. Let's high-tail it over to the fields."

Her two friends fell in step next to her, still watching her curiously.

"I think that was a nice thing to do!" Nadia chirped. "I bet you're the first to wish him luck!"

"First, and only," added Felix in his usual quiet voice. The side of his mouth quirked upwards. "That was nice of you."

The short blonde beamed up at Liseli. "It really was."

Liseli merely quirked a thin eyebrow, her dark lips pursing. "Not exactly," she started evasively. "It's like…treating a kicked puppy in the most average way possible. Better than its usual treatment, but not exactly _nice_."

Nadia gave a giggle, and a dreamy sigh. "It'd still be cute if you became his friend…"

Liseli gave a patronizing snort. "And sully my family's honor? No thanks. Only the Hunger Games could ever force me to ally myself with him in any way, shape, or form. The kid's not emotionally or physically capable to be anything past 'acquaintance' with me."

The shorter girl pouted up at her, hands on her curvy hips. Liseli tried to shrug off the guilt that manifested from both her harsh words, and her friend's disappointed look.

"Look, we're here. Let's clock in, before we're late and they dock our pay," Liseli said, placating, shoving any and all other thoughts to the back of her mind. She needed her mind clear and focused on her task. Slacking off or failing wouldn't sit well with her hardworking nature.

She didn't want to _not_ pull her weight, especially when she noted the comforting visages of her parents in the distance. She's had the mindset of working to help give back to her parents since she was young. Liseli has done her bit day in day out without complaint to help them and herself get by, and no person or looming Reaping will ruin that for her.

* * *

**Vamiya Willows, 16, District 11**

That morning, Vamiya awoke with a random man in her bed. The house was barren. Her parents weren't home, again. They were most likely working, manning the shop.

These occurrences were normal for Vamiya Willows. Bring a man home, mess around with him, wake up to find her parents not being home. It didn't bother her in the slightest.

What **did** bother her was her little sister, a wisp of a child, sneaking into her room. Minnie would whisper things into Vamiya's ear, acting as if she truly liked her older sister, despite all the awful shit she did.

"_Tomorrow's the Reaping. I'd be 6_," the little girl says with a laugh, sounding as if she was miles away as Vamiya tried to clear her mind from the haze. However, no matter how many times she groggily blinked, her brown eyes could never focus properly on the thin image of the brat.

Vamiya groaned, rolling to her side, her back to the stupid brat. Then she took note the time, lowered herself next to her lover, and whispered in his ear that it was time to wake up.

"We don't want to be late, now do we?" she purred in his ear, as he gave a groggy groan. The man flopped an arm around her waist, pulling her to him as she gave a giggle.

"Hmmm, maybe I won't mind if we had a quickie," she mewled in his ear, massaging his morning erection. And without preamble, she rolled on top of him, their dark skin melting together as she quickly made love to him.

Her moans echoed loudly across her home; it pleased her that she could do this, with her parents gone. It almost made it worth it, them never being home to give her their love and attention.

As she lazily collapsed on her side, staring blankly at the door, she decided… it wasn't. Not exactly. Especially with her sister staring at her with wide, dead eyes. This only made her pissed off.

Vamiya got off her bed in a huff, and harked on man number 37 to put on his clothes and leave her house. But of course, she would give him a seductive wink, and tell him that she'll gladly get together with him sometime later.

The man stumbled out of her house, as she firmly closed the door behind him. Detached, she meandered over to the mirror in the bathroom, pulling up her messy hair in her signature ponytail. She looked at her scantily clad figure in the reflection, pulling aside her collar.

That guy had been okay. Mostly just gave her a few hickeys. Nothing new or interesting or truly memorable.

"Tomorrow's the Reaping…" she murmured, remembering that fact. She stared at the mirror, seeing her sister's pale reflection behind her, contrasting greatly with her own brown, strong one. "That's right; it's tomorrow, isn't it?"

Vamiya frowned. "That means that tomorrow, everyone'll be too busy to take up any of my offers…Damn it," she spit, giving a sneer. "Guess I'll just have to get in as much as I can today…"

Grumbling, she shoved her little sister out of the way forcefully, and then promptly stomped out of her home. She went to her boring school, in a bad mood.

She tried distracting herself by flirting with some of her classmates. A touch here, a flash there, a seductive wink or two. She kneed one guy under his desk at the back of the room, and noted that another was staring at her breasts will trying to discreetly jack off.

At the end of her first class, she quickly took aside some random guy in an empty storage closet. The time stretched out, and before she knew it, she was panting and making her way to her third class.

Rinse, wash, repeat.

By the end of the last class, she'd gotten intimate with ten boys.

Most days, she didn't throw herself at the boys in her classes so much. Sure, she flirted unashamedly, liked watching them stare at her, had a quickie with one every so often, but she didn't try feeling up so many guys in one school day.

It was probably because she was restless. She wanted to get in as much as she could before tomorrow, where the wells would run dry as everyone spent time with their families. And she didn't like taking up the dregs—they were older and nastier and didn't please her nearly as much.

As she meandered the halls, she pulled aside a tall boy to a stall in the boy's bathroom.

"Mmmm, they say that my height is **perfect** for tall boys," she crooned up at him, subtly flashing her breasts at him. She noted how he stared down at her, eyes able to look down her shirt easily.

"And they say that it's perfect for **other** things, other than looking," she breathed, as she slowly unbuttoned his pants with one hand, dipping her hand in to kneed him.

But even after giving that boy a blowjob—and offering him some more 'fun' for another day—she didn't feel like she'd had enough. Giving a frustrated click of her tongue, she sashayed her way down the streets of Eleven, trying to calculate how many guys she could have sex with today to burn off steam.

It turned out that if she truly put her mind to it, the answer was _a lot_.

Vamiya messes around with a lot of specimens of the male species, so she can be considered a whore, but she enjoys the attention and the physical contact. It's not like she truly loves any of the people she sleeps with, anyways, to care. She sleeps with them, they pay her, and she forever uses them to fulfill her needs and pleasures.

As Vamiya lay on her bed at almost midnight, mewling things in man number 54's ear, her mind wandered.

Maybe today would bolster her reputation of district whore, and get her new men to play around with. Someone that could properly fill in her kinks. After all, she went on a sex binge, so that would show that she's got great stamina, which would be appreciated, right?

As the ghost of her sister whispered and giggled things in her ear, Vamiya could only hope that she was right. She needed something to keep her distracted, and make the brat shut the fuck up.


	7. Intros: Day Of

**AN**: We've done it kids, we finished the Intros. They've taken too long to write. But, on the bright side, I've gotten a hang of writing these characters enough that the Reapings will be a breeze.

These are all in a somewhat tentative order of when they happened through the day, hence Cerium's oddly-placed section between the serious ones. Also, a new poll's up ; poll results on the previous will be posted on the blog.

The Tributes this chapter are**: Vulca, Flynn, Animal, Azrael, Cerium, **and** Hastiin**. Also, warning: incredibly irritating teen girl, asshole step-dads, self-harm, suicide, angst, vandalism, whipping, dead people…Yeah, I dunno what else I should warn about.

**Edit**: just fixing a few little details I missed, whoops

* * *

**Intros: Day Of** (Reaping)

* * *

**Vulca Spark, 18, District 3**

A teen girl was sleeping soundly in her plush bed, face buried in her fluffed pillows. Her long, dark hair was fanned around her, contrastingly starkly with the blankets and linens.

She looked peaceful in sleep. Her face was smooth, soft lips opened slightly as she breathed deeply. With her high cheekbones, thin eyebrows, and long lashes, she held an aristocratic air. Akin to that of a princess.

The peaceful image was shattered thoroughly when the girl was awakened roughly by a gruff, male voice.

"Vulca, get the hell up—and don't you **dare** try and go back asleep!" bellowed Edmund Spark as he roughly slammed his step-daughter's door open, sticking his head in her room.

The girl—Vulca—gave an irritated groan that sounded akin to that of a cat who got its tail trod on.

"What. Ever!" she spit furiously, violently taking up one of her many pillows and shoving it roughly over her head to block out the bastard's voice.

"Don't you ignore me, young lady!" the man demanded, voice rising. "Get up, or else we'll be late for the Reaping—like **last** year!"

"**Ugh**! Shut! Up!" Vulca crowed, screeching each syllable. She turned slightly around in her bed, chucking the pillow she was using previously at her step-father. "You're not my **real** dad!"

The man stood there, sneer on his face, going red in rage. He looked ready to march over and bodily drag the girl out of her room. However, a woman stuck her head into the room to diffuse the situation just in time, before the two could impart extreme bodily harm to each other.

"Vulca, honey, don't argue. Get up," stated Remilia Spark sternly, lips pursed. "And, Ed? Calm down. Yelling and losing your temper has never helped with Vulca _before_, and it won't help _now_."

The brunette man blinked down at the pretty woman, before his face broke out into the penchant fake smile he always gave his wife. "Of course, dear," he said, voice calm and sickingly sweet. "I just don't want my little girls to get punished for missing the Reaping."

Vulca gave a snort, glaring furiously at the man. She wished her mother hadn't been stupid enough to marry the asshole. It was pretty obvious that Edmund Spark despised her and her sister Vanessa. Hell, he was so obviously fake, it was a wonder that her wonderful mother didn't notice.

The bastard never gave her enough credit, but she **knows**. She knows of his little ploy, to steal her mother's inheritance. He could talk circles around Remilia with his honeyed tongue, but so long as her daughters were there, they wouldn't let him get away with it. Not even him taking up the Spark name had won him a co-signing from her mother.

Vulca slowly sat up in her bed, giving a low growl in her throat. "Get out so I can get changed," she ordered haughtily to her step-father, upturned nose angled up in the air, giving him a sharp glare.

"Will do, _princess_," the man replied, obviously sarcastic. He moved to leave her room, shooting her one last look of loathing, before shutting the door.

Ugh, she wished her **real** dad was still alive…He always treated his family right—his **entire** family, not just his wife. He was there every step of the way, always encouraging and showering them in love and presents.

Her dad had always told her that she was a "_Special girl, well worth waiting for_" because her birth was 3 weeks late. He was honest like that. But then he died when she was 10, and her mother threw herself at the first 'nice' man, to help numb the pain.

Too bad that 'nice' man was Edmund.

Vulca gave a scoff as she slowly peeled off her pajamas. "God, I can't **wait** to win the Games. Then, I can make sure that good-for-nothing **never** nears us again…"

Vulca gave a smirk of satisfaction at the thought. Her countenance brightened, as she realized that today was the Reaping—her **chance**.

She could do it. She was 17, charming, attractive. With all her talents, she could, in fact, win the Hunger Games.

After all, how hard could it be?

Obviously, the previous Tributes from District Three weren't trying hard enough. It was pitiful, how a majority went and died in the Bloodbath.

But **she** could do it. People would be scrambling over themselves to sponsor her. She'd become a favorite, hunt down the competition with the trained and strong Tributes, and win.

And then, when she won, she could make Three a Career District. Just like Riyo Sato and Festus Marsh with Two and Four. District Three was sandwiched between them, and they were a richer District, so it could happen.

_"Honestly,"_ she thought with an imperious sniff, "_Three can surpass Four, with a push. I'm, like, __**so**__ much prettier than Mags_."

Vulca smoothed down the front of her short, red dress. Then, she twirled around, her hair fanning around her. She examined her body from every angle, a smirk twisting the features of her pretty face into something ugly.

"Guys will be **clamoring** over themselves to ally with me," she noted arrogantly, giving a giggle that sounded akin to a sharp object scratching painfully across a pane of glass.

"_Hang on, District Three. Your new Victor will be taking the stage, soon_!"

* * *

**Flynn Caltier, 15, District 7**

Flynn woke up by a cacophony of sounds in her room. Slowly, she took time to properly awaken, before she would be forced into some sort of mess by her sister.

Quietly, the young girl observed her 21 year old sister tear through their shared closet like a cyclone. Davita cursed and spoke loudly, yelling towards their bedroom door—which was propped open widely—asking their mother for assistance in something.

"Maaaaaaa, I can't find my Reaping dress!" Davita howled, causing Flynn to discreetly cover her ears.

The younger girl took a quick look at the clock in their room. For whatever reason, Davita was actually awake **early**. And getting ready for the Reaping, if her yelling was anything to go by.

Davita was way past the Reaping age, so then why…? Ah, it's probably a boy. It explains why Davita's wearing her newest pair of underwear, as well.

Flynn cursed her intelligent, observant nature, at this moment. Clearly imagining her older sister taking her clothes off to flaunt her underwear to a man was something **no** sibling should ever imagine. It was scarring.

So Flynn merely feigned sleep, using her ears to figure out when it would be a safe time to 'properly' wake up. Sometimes it was good that she was naturally stuck in her sibling's shadows, always quiet and unnoticed, because she could carefully get out of a lot of awkward situations.

And get extra rest. Rest was good.

Aryan Caltier shuffled into her daughter's room, asking what was wrong. She helped her eldest find her Reaping dress, shuffling around in the closet.

The younger girl managed to pick up her mother saying that she was going to find **her** Reaping dress, as well. Flynn gave a small grin. Good; she didn't know where in the world it was. Davita took over most of the closet, so it was probably buried deep within the labyrinth of clothing.

Her mother muttered something about getting dressed and making breakfast, and shuffled out of the room, closing the door behind her. So, all Flynn needed to worry over was getting acceptably ready for the day.

She never got overtly invested in her looks, so she never took too long. She probably had a good **hour** until she should wake up to get ready But that gave her less time to meet up with her friends, even if she got more sleep. Hm, decisions, decisions…

Flynn suddenly picked up loud noises from the room next door, through the thin walls. It seems like the twins are awake, because of all the noise their older sister had been making.

Well, there goes her chance of getting extra shut-eye. Padraig and Heather are balls of energy, and like to 'check up on their precious little sister'. Aka: the duo enjoyed annoying the hell out of her, and rarely let her have any peace and quiet.

Where oh where had she gone wrong, when it came to the twins? When she was a baby, they'd been kicked out of their own room to make room for her, sure, but they were all too young to hold grudges, right? And when she was young, she'd been stuck in Padraig's room for a few short years, to separate the twins and get them used to the fact that Padraig was a boy and Heather was a girl.

But that shouldn't be held against her. The twins roomed for a majority of their lives, regardless of Flynn. And they're 18, completely and utterly capable of being mature young adults…

Flynn let out a small sigh, as the twins noisily bounded out of their room and into hers. Before they could pounce on Flynn and tickle her awake, she blearily sat up.

"I'm awake, I'm awake," she informed them, one hand waving them away, the other rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"Awwww," Heather whined.

"How'd you wake up, Flynn?" asked Padraig with a pout.

"You're all loud," she muttered. "Hard to sleep through all of your noise…"

But, of course, she was ignored. The twins were already turning their attention to Davita, who was fussing both over them.

"Oh, it's your last Reaping! You should both wear something more presentable— it's not every day that you'll be attending your last Reaping, you know," Davita chided them, as she tried straightening both of their clothes.

Flynn gave a small snort. The twins were sporting identical jeans and t-shirts; definitely not their Reaping best.

"Now, go back and change! We've still got time, and Flynn needs to get ready, too," the eldest girl ordered, bodily shoving the 18 year olds out of her room.

"Ma left your Reaping dress on the desk. I'm going to nab the bathroom, 'kay?" Davita told the younger girl languidly, exiting the room before Flynn could even get a word in edge-wise. Flynn gave a sigh, although she wasn't surprised at her older sister's actions.

Properly locking the door, Flynn began to change out of her very childish pajamas and into her sundress. It was a very simple dress, a muted orange color. She quickly brushed out her dark hair, deciding to just leave it in its usual style, and dug in her desk for her necklace.

Flynn grinned when she found the necklace of beads. It was a gift her friend Acelynn gave to their group of friends. Friendship necklaces, Ace called them. The quartet of friends always wore the necklaces. It physically represented their tight bond, showed that despite how different the four were, they were always great friends.

When they received them, Theodore had humorously noted that they were so girly-looking, it would help keep away the swarms of girls away from him and Jake. Jake had merely flipped his dirty-blonde hair, and noted cheekily that only Flynn and Ace would ever convince him to wear jewelry. Flynn had smiled so hard, she almost burst, and cherished the necklace.

To Flynn, the necklace showed that, to her friends, she wasn't merely the baby sister. She wasn't just the sibling that always lived in her older sibling's shadows, the ignored pushover.

Flynn wore the necklace proudly and boldly, even when she trailed behind her family as they entered the Town Square. And when she met up with her friends, she saw that each of them wore theirs boldly as well—each of them being _equal_, none overshadowing the others.

This knowledge helped quiet the self-loathing whispers in the back of her mind.

* * *

**Tomoki 'Animal' Seshat, 18, District 7**

The people of District Seven were bustling about, amidst a thick, high-strung tension. Children were hushed, people spoke in low tones, and everyone walked carefully with stiff postures as they dragged their feet.

One boy was perched imperiously in the high branches of an olden oak, able to observe all those who went about their business. His face was in a sneer, his dark eyes beady, barely seen beneath his messy mop of hair.

But no one was looking at him. His small body was hidden amidst the branches, as he stuck to the shadows.

He wasn't sure if he preferred people ignoring him. It was either their dismissal, or their bullying. His narcissism would rather they pay attention to him despite the humiliation, but his pride would rather he stay hidden amidst shadows and leaves.

The boy stood up stealthily, balanced perfectly, as his eyes swept across the area. He could see the entire 'burrow' of houses, from his vacant point, all the buildings familiar from his childhood. His eyes slowly slid over to the one most familiar to him, and he scowled darkly.

His **former** home. Before his parents decided that he was too weak and unimportant to be their son, and kicked him out.

_You're tearing this family apart_, they'd said. _You're violent and a delinquent. You have to learn that your actions have consequences, Tomoki!_

But they didn't understand. Never have. It was **their** failure in parenting that caused him to morph into a beast. They belittled him as everyone else, deeming him weak, said that he would amount to **nothing**.

_Weak_. The boy bared his teeth in a fierce snarl. A moniker given to him by just about everyone, since he could remember. His classmates, his fellow Reaping-age teens, his bullies, his _siblings_, his _parents_.

And fuck it if that didn't push him off the edge—the fact that his own damn **parents** thought he was useless.

His siblings? Fuck, they'd instilled paranoia and loathing in him since he could _walk_. They were almost as bad as the damn punks that beat the shit out of him. They usually didn't beat the snot out of him (usually, because his asshole of a brother Hiroki broke his arm too many times to be deemed an _accident_) but they could be **worse**.

Because he used to fucking **live** with Hiroki and Amaya, so that meant that they could jeer and shove him in the shadows as many damn times as they pleased, and his parents wouldn't say anything because _oh, Hiroki and Amaya are such wonderful, wonderful children, they're so smart and strong, and, oh Tomoki, why can't you be anything like your siblings?_

The rage bubbled and boiled, blood coursing through his body, screaming at him to destroy something at that very second. But he had to wait, until the time was right.

So he settled with voicing his disgust. "**Fuck** them," he hissed, voiced hoarse and full of utter loathing as he stared holes at his prior home. "It's **better** that I'm not living with them."

But he couldn't take his stare off of his damn house—_former_ house. He could just imagine what his family was doing right now.

Hessian and Haruka Seshat would both be pushing to get his siblings ready, and his mother would also juggle with making breakfast. Some hashed potatoes, with a side of plain rice, and possibly a slice of home-baked nutty bread.

Then Hiroki would be chatting loudly with his father at the table, complaining that Amaya was taking too long getting ready. His mother would try calming him, and somehow manage. Then Amaya would calmly sit down, ignore her older brother, and help their mother with the dishes.

The boy blinked his eyes furiously. Out of irritation, because the burning in his eyes wouldn't be anything else. Any other emotion would make him seem like a pansy.

And, oh fuck, was that something in his eye? Yeah, probably. The short teen roughly rubbed at his eyes, before squinting them down below him at the sight of his family exiting the front door of their home.

The boy watched the four figures closely, his sights following their every move. His short mother, with her smooth features, was patiently straightening Amaya's skirt. His siblings still towered over the woman. Hiroki still strut around like he owned the damn world.

"So, nothing's fucking changed," he murmured, watching his family until they left his line of sight. They looked better, without him dragging himself bitterly behind them, he noted scathingly. Like a fucking picture-perfect family.

Silently, with blank eyes, the boy watched as the other families trickled out of their homes as the minutes ticked by. The time of the Reaping was looming ever closer.

Finally, when it was down to about fifteen minutes until the Reaping would start, the boy scaled down the tree with lithe movements. Once his tiny feet touched the ground, a predatory, excited grin split his smooth face.

Now that they were gone, he could wreck mayhem across all of these homes, and no one could stop him. All the Peacekeepers would be too occupied at the town square to run out to the sounds of destruction.

The boy bared his teeth, the adrenaline pumping through his veins, as he stalked the streets. His head constantly swiveled around, trying to find the perfect item to start the cacophony of chaos.

There, twenty yards in front of him, to the right. A rock, about the size of a half-loaf of bread.

Strutting over, the teen picked up the rock, weighing it in his hands. With a pleased chuckle, he strode over to the nearest house, and started to bash at the windows with it.

He moved quickly. From home to home, he threw their trash about, broke their windows, wrote on their walls.

He took out all his anger on these quiet, empty homes. In revenge for his constant humiliation. In revenge for always being belittled and dismissed. As payback, for all these people having such perfect and loving families that actually gave a _fuck_ about each other.

And on each home—in big, bold letters—he painted his name with precise, practiced strokes with his spray can.

He spelled his name. His **new** name. Because he wasn't stupid enough to spell T.O.M.O.K.I upon the places he vandalized. And _Tomoki Seshat_ was synonymous with _weak_ and _hopeless_ and _delinquent_ and _loser_.

He'd always been the weakling, the little guy, the one people easily crush. He likes power and control, because he himself has never had any. So when was kicked from his home a few weeks prior, he attempted to destroy the old person he had been, picking up a new identity.

His new moniker was much more powerful than his original name.

A.N.I.M.A.L.

And it _worked_. Because his new alias—Animal—is powerful and commands attention. It's why he's been able to get away with the vandalism, and with the humiliation of others in the District. Animal the Vandal was a mystery that caused chaos and destruction, a force that could strike at any moment.

A.N.I.M.A.L allowed him to make his revenge complete and utter reality. ANIMAL was a name feared and respected.

Animal gave a long, dry cackle, as he noted all the destruction. With a pleased smirk, he chucked his weapon into a random window, clapped the dirt from his hands, and quickly darted towards the Reaping.

He was going to show them all to fear him. Because Animal was going to **destroy** everyone, and win the Hunger Games.

* * *

**Azrael Rachaye, 17, District 9**

District Nine slowly awoke, its citizens lazily getting ready for the upcoming ceremony. They needn't rush; after all, their District was the last third to have their Reaping, so their ceremony started much later than Districts One through Eight.

Although, there were many teens that were miserable with the event looming over their heads, and would rather get it over with. The wait was stifling— and so would be the heat, when it was finally time for the event.

One such boy—who wished drearily for the Reaping to just come and **happen** already— had hid himself in a dank, dirty stall in the corner of the boy's bathroom at the orphanage. The stall was out of order, and held a busted light at the top, so no one really used it.

The teen sat there, face crumpled, thoughts darkening with each passing second.

_Outsider Filth. Loser. Unwanted. Psychopath. __**Killer**__._

Those are terms that Azrael's been called since he was 8. A box of decisions from society that he just couldn't escape, no matter what he did. No matter how nice he was, or how hard he tried to prove everyone wrong.

It's one thing to be shunned by one person. But to be alienated by an entire District is **crushing**. It's like the weight of a boulder. No matter where he goes, everything condenses and pushes, squeezing and crushing him.

Azrael blames his father for this. For **everything**.

It had started years ago, when his memories were filled with laughter and the smell of honey wheat. Women would go missing every month or so, and show up dead later. Along with specific rich folk— but **that** phenomena had stopped ever since Victor Niveus Blackburn returned to the District.

Back then, everyone was in a throw of terror, wondering who would be the next victim. The Peacekeepers were restless, whipping people left and right, but they came up with no concrete answers. Paranoia had settled like a shadow over the District, further hunching people's tired shoulders.

Azrael and his younger sister Kael were positive like their mother, Amayne. But that didn't last for long.

The Peacekeepers had busted into the Rachaye home one fateful, dreary day. No warning, no noise. They marched in, arresting his father, before quickly taking off again. After Cassis Rachaye was arrested and imprisoned, the man confessed to doing it all, despite the Rachaye family's disbelief.

And the Peacekeepers believed it. **Everyone** did. Because no one had any indiscriminating, pure evidence on anyone else doing these crimes.

Azrael took in a long, shaky breath. His body trembled, but his hands were oddly steady as he pressed the small blade to the pale skin of his upper arm.

He watched blankly at how his old scars opened anew. Watching as the bright red blood slowly bloomed from the shallow cut. And, like always, he didn't feel a thing. He was too hollow to feel physical pain.

It wasn't long after, when the glares started, then the accusations…then the isolation. The District was disgusted with Cassis Rachaye, and his family by association. Even though they hadn't known that their loving husband and father was a serial killer, a disturbed man with an insatiable desire for blood.

The three were corralled by the Peacekeepers and questioned, just a few weeks after Cassis's disappearance. It was brutal, more torture and interrogation than a simple questioning. But they truly had no information over Cassis's previous activities, so they'd been let go.

But it was too much. The accumulation of cruelty from both the Peacekeepers and the regular citizens was too much for his poor, sweet mother. She hung herself within the year, leaving him and Kael to the orphanage.

Azrael dug the blade into his shoulder, making tally marks of the years that Amayne Rachael had been dead_. Onetwothreefourfivesixseven—Eight_.

Nobody saw Azrael as a child, not with his father's heinous crimes hanging over his head like a thick fog. Not when _he looked like the __**exact**__ spitting image of his father_.

Azrael was like a walking, breathing, talking reminder to Nine. At least Victor Niveus Blackburn had quarantined himself to the Victor's Village. But everyone was **stuck** with this orphan who was a ticking time bomb, the next expected serial killer.

His classmates either shunned him or bullied him, adults ignored him, friends abandoned him.

Kael had clung to him as much as she could, wanting comfort from her big brother, and wanting to comfort him from the crushing despair. She was the best part of his life, the light in the stifling darkness.

But they even took his sister from him. Decided when she was ten and he was thirteen, that she needed to be taken away from his _influence_. The adults bodily ripped her from his grasp while they both screamed and cried themselves hoarse.

All he knew was that she was '_in a nice family, on the opposite side of the District_'. That's all they told him. He hasn't seen her since. He doesn't even know if she's named Kael anymore—or healthy, happy, _alive_.

Azrael deftly rolled up the left leg of his pants, head sunk low. Looking down with tired, dead eyes, he took his blade and started to lightly carve into the flesh just below his knee.

People pretended nothing was wrong; that he wasn't suffering. Even when he hung back, in the shadows, with a gaunt complexion. Even when he flinched from any type of movement towards him, any touch. Even when the scars covering his arms and legs were blatantly left out in the open.

And nobody cared.

With a long breath, Azrael slumped back against the grimy tile of the bathroom. He listlessly spread his limbs out, blood still oozing from the angry marks. He stared up at the cracked ceiling, trying to fight the hot tears that slid down his twisted face.

He could count on one hand, the number of people that seemingly **cared**. One hand for anyone that was **nice** to him.

As he studied the blade in his hands, wondering where else he should start cutting, he remembered something.

_Yesterday, after the last school bell. A girl his height, with red-blonde hair. Liseli, he was sure she was called. They bumped into each other, and she talked to him._

_Liseli clapped his shoulder. "Hang in there. Good luck with tomorrow. You're gonna need it."_

The edge of his mouth pulled upwards, and the tears stopped. It's been four years—since Kael was taken away—since he'd had someone to wish him luck for the Reapings.

It was…nice. Refreshing.

And it gave him the strength to stop hurting himself further. To get off the dank, smelly floor. To wipe his face. To wash his cuts. To ready himself for the Reaping, and put on his best. To block out the cruel glares and jibes. To put one foot in front of the other, and walk all the way down to the town Square.

Azrael stood in line to sign in. When it was his turn, he strode forwards, giving a weak, polite grin to the Peacekeeper at the desk. The woman glared at him, roughly taking his proffered hand to stab at his finger, drawing blood. But he didn't react at all to it, didn't feel the pain.

He shuffled his way into the Square, going off into the roped-off pen for the 17 year old males. He stood at a back edge, eyes looking every which way at the filling area.

He caught a sight of familiar red-blonde hair, and stared. He hadn't noted it before, but Liseli had long, straight hair. It was pretty; the color of the sky during a sunset. Against the white blouse she wore, it was like a river of soft, shimmery flames was painted across a canvas.

If it weren't for the Escort calling for their attention, he wouldn't have taken his eyes off of her.

* * *

**Cerium Morgan, 16, District 5**

Cerium was a naturally optimistic person. While the entire District seemed nervous and downtrodden about the looming Reaping, she tried keeping positive.

Sure, her doing so was a bit naïve, but it was ultimately better to see the good of any situation. Because then, the good parts would help you get through the bad, acting as something you could cling to in dire times.

So with that uplifting disposition, Cerium readied herself for the Reaping. She chatted with her family at the table as they slowly ate their breakfast, trying to dispel the tension.

"Cerium, your babbling isn't going to put us at ease," snapped her mother, Lydia. The girl snapped her mouth closed, picking at her toast meekly.

"Honey," murmured Stefan Morgan at his wife, eyebrows creased. He pat his daughter on the head, as if she was still 6, knowing how sensitive his daughter was. "We're sorry, Cerium. The Reaping's just a tense affair," he told her, giving her a small, tight smile.

"I know it's my last Reaping, but I'll be fine," Cerium's brother spoke up, voice dry. "Although, I don't mind Cerium shutting up…"

The girl shot him a look, which turned into a glare when Bromine ruffled her hair roughly. She bat her older brother's hand away, trying to straighten her auburn hair again, even though it was naturally wavy and skewed.

"Bromine, stop teasing your sister. She's spent time and effort on her appearance, and you shouldn't ruin her hard work," intoned their mother, giving a pointed look at her son over her cup of tea.

Cerium, however, caught her mother's compliment. She beamed, straightening up proudly in her chair. Cerium had worried over her appearance—specifically, her hair—so the reassurance was nice.

Her mother had bought her a new dress from the second-hand store, for this Reaping. It was an old-fashioned model of dress— button-up with a rounded collar, showing how old it was—but it was still in good condition. Cerium was enamored with it—the teal color was still strong and pretty, and it held these cute little short sleeves on it that were different from all the dresses with straps or puffy sleeves.

After that, breakfast was a bit less tense. But Bromine still pestered and snarked at her—such stereotypical big brother behavior. It made her miss her older sister, Indium. Indium had moved away from home to study biochemistry at one of the District's various research-facilities-that-totally-didn't-exist.

Yeah, right. It was amusing how the Capitol pretended that science wasn't a huge part of District Five, when it was just so…Blatantly there.

Anyways, she was happy for the opportunity her sister had, she honestly was! But Cerium still missed her dearly. Indium had been away from home for about four months now, and Cerium craved for her hugs and advice.

But she tried to dispel the gloom of those thoughts. Her sister had an important, well-paying profession that she enjoyed. It was the best possible option for Indium.

Cerium grinned when her family left their home, intent on trying to trudge through the next hour with as much pep she possessed. As they neared the Square, passing by various houses and shops in the downtown part of the District, she spotted a familiar mop of curly-blonde hair close to the Registration desks.

"Andie, hey!" she called out to her friend. The lanky boy was off to the side, hunched over, and jumped at her sudden exclamation.

Cerium slowly walked towards Andie, allowing him to find her, before she accidentally spooked him again. He didn't like it when his friends suddenly popped in front of him. He freaked out over the smallest things, and was a worrywart, and probably had some type of social disorder—a bad mix, even worse to have during such an event like the Reaping.

"O-Oh, Cerium, hey," Andie said weakly, giving her a quavering smile, hands shaking as he fiddled with his fingers. He looked very pale, and was darting his green eyes constantly over to the check-in desk that held the Peacekeepers.

Cerium gave him a comforting smile, and took his arm, guiding him to the line for Registration. She talked to him to take his attention away from the intimidating people in pristine white armor, and the needle-device that would prick their fingers.

Before long, they were at the front, and got signed in. Cerium managed to stay by Andie's side, and helped keep him from completely freaking out over being poked by a needle. She gently herded him towards the 16 year old female section, despite his quiet protests.

"When it gets closer to the start, you can just walk over to the boy's pen," Cerium told him soothingly. "See—other guys are mingling in here too, so you're not the only one. You'll be fine."

Andie relaxed, giving a small grin down at her, before the duo was faced with their two other friends.

"Good, you two didn't get lost," Deryn said quietly, her hazel eyes twinkling in mirth. Cerium and Kendal laughed, whilst Andie rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

"Maybe I should invent Andie a super-special compass to help him find his way?" Kendal suggested, tilting her head, wolfish grin on her face.

The boy of the group frowned down at the petite girl who held a penchant for tinkering with things. "Maybe you should invent something that will actually get commissioned and distributed," he told her dryly.

"Put some water on that sick burn, Kendal—I think Andie out-sassed you," Deryn intoned in her usual reserved voice. Kendal gave a swat at the girl's hair, causing the dirty-blonde strands to shift from their prior perfectly straight position.

"Now, now," Cerium started, ready to put all her friends at ease, and smooth things over. "Andie— you've been improving when it comes to large groups, but it's understandable that at the Reaping you'd be nervous. Kendal—you're too ambitious to **not** invent something great, one day."

Finally, Cerium turned to Deryn, the group's token-quiet friend. She cocked her head to the side, unsure what wise wisdom to impart on her.

"Deryn—keep staying golden," she told the blonde-haired girl simply, who gave her a small, bemused smile.

"I'm not dyeing my hair any time soon…" Deryn intoned, giving a small snigger. The group laughed, tension slowly ebbing from them.

But it came back full-force, once a screech of a microphone echoed across the area. It looks like the Escort was testing the microphone.

Andie face fell, twisting, making him look like he had indigestion. He quickly bid his three friends farewell, ducking down, and darted towards his proper section.

"_Well, at least he won't get in trouble_," Cerium thought, trying to find the silver lining in the situation. It was a bit hard, with how queasy she suddenly felt, the situation finally crashing down on her.

* * *

**Hastiin Tsoh, 14, District 11**

Most people in District Eleven were out working in the fields, at this time, despite the event that was taking place today. The Peacekeepers of Eleven were very strict; even if the Reaping in most other Districts was a mandatory event, they still forced at least half the District to keep working during this day.

Eleven was one of the largest Districts, and was very vital for all of Panem. They were the Agriculture District—they essentially grew the food for the entire nation. Sure, Nine provided the grain, Four caught fish, and Ten produced the meats—but as it stood, Eleven produced the highest quota of food, more than those three Districts **combined**.

Eleven just simply wasn't allowed to be able to take holidays, no matter the reason. Production was important, and stopping an entire industry for just one day was detrimental and a **waste**.

So, a majority of Eleven was forced to still work for today. The only ones that had the day off were the children of Reaping age, for obvious reasons. The rest of the Square would be filled with those workers and parents and such that were literally lucky enough to be given the day off. That, or those who were unable to work for some reason; those who didn't matter, who wouldn't be detrimental to production.

Hastiin knew this—the reasoning behind his parents, and so many others, having to work out in the fields and orchards, despite the Reaping.

Whilst other children were heartbroken over their loved ones being unable to escort them to the Reaping, or be there in the crowds for emotional support, Hastiin understood. He didn't fuss or whine, nor did he plead or cry, nor put his hopes in being able to 'convince' his parents to drop everything they were doing for him.

Hastiin barely turned 14—and a rare only child, never knowing the responsibility of looking out for siblings—but he wasn't naïve or stupid. He didn't react negatively to his parents telling him that morning that they still had to go out and work in the fields. He simply nodded, giving them both tight hugs, wishing them luck with work and assuring them that he'd get to the Square fine.

Bidziil and Kai Tsoh, after all, were the nice sort of people that would never abandon their child, unless they had to. The strict policies weren't their fault at all.

Didn't mean that any of them would like it, though. Once Hastiin was left alone in his little shack of a home, he muttered darkly about how utterly horrible the Capitol was, making the citizens slave away.

Hastiin was understanding, but he was also snide and passionate in his dislike for the Capitol. He was just cautious, stoic, and introverted enough that this never caused him any backlash.

And he **never** talked about his Rebellious behavior to his parents. Keeping quiet doesn't have the possibility of the Peacekeepers finding out and killing him and/or his parents. Getting killed was a very strong outcome, if the Peacekeepers learned that all the traps that sprouted up around their headquarters and pit-stops were created by **him**.

Hastiin prided himself in his intuitiveness and strong grasp in common sense. And the outcome of him opening up about his little Rebel stints to **anyone** was incredibly undesirable. He'd rather keep his parents naïvely innocent and alive, thanks.

Hastiin's muttered anti-Capitol sentiments under his breath whilst changing into his clothes for the Reaping. He checked himself in the dirty, cracked mirror in his parent's room. He was glad that he chose to wear the white, collared shirt his father let him borrow—if he wore any other shirt, the sweat stains would be more visible.

"We're all going to be sweating like pigs," Hastiin noted dryly. He sighed, cursing the mid-day heat aloud.

The temperature in Eleven was always warm, but currently, the heat was unbearably stifling. It always got this way, at this time of time of day—and yet, this was the hour the Reapings took place, every single year.

The earlier Districts were lucky. They had to wake up earlier, but they had a more bearable hour of the day to have their Reapings.

Hastiin exited his home to the sun beating down strongly on him. He squinted, bringing up an arm to cover his eyes, and started walking towards the Square. It was a very long, dry, boring trek. It didn't help that he was quiet, wasn't up for social interaction, and only had one friend—who didn't even live in this part of the District.

He, and other Reaping-age children, trudged down the dirt paths. Past the shantyhouses, the fields, the orchards, the Peacekeeper outposts…Until they were finally stepping onto the paved roads that led into the dingy town that would hold the Reapings.

And, because the Square was currently being used for the ceremony, the outskirts of the town temporarily held the stocks and whipping posts. Even though today was supposed to be a holiday, the Peacekeepers were punishing people all the same.

Hastiin scrunched up his face as he passed, forcing himself to stiffly put one foot in front of the other. He was shoved forwards when he froze in the middle of the trek, staring wide-eyed at a little 11 year old boy getting whipped.

Hastiin's tanned face paled as he stared, imagining the little boy being replaced by his very close, very **dead** friend from a few years ago.

He robotically walked forwards, ghosting passed the whipping posts, as he remembered the day the Peacekeepers whipped his childhood friend to death. He could still visualize the crumpled and broken body of Jay— so, so tiny and fragile and _dead_ compared to the towering Peacekeeper.

Hastiin was barely 12. Jay was still 11. Jay didn't deserve to die via public whipping. Hastiin didn't deserve to watch his best friend die in front of his very eyes, helpless.

Hastiin clenched his fists tightly, his nails painfully digging in his palms. He tried to calm himself through deep, even breaths.

Jay's death still haunted him. Every time Hastiin saw a young boy getting punished, he couldn't help but imagine Jay's death. And every time he was reminded by the injustice, it lit and spurred a Rebellious fire within him.

Eventually, he finally got to the heart of the town. Hastiin took in his surroundings, amongst the throng of sweat-drenched teenagers, as he meandered his way towards the Registration desks. The Square was already packed with children. His group had to push and shove their way through all the adults that were loitering in the streets.

Hastiin silently stood in one of the sign-in lines. When it was his turn, he stiffly stepped forwards, extending his hand stoically. When his blood was drawn, he gave a tiny, curt nod to the Peacekeeper at the desk, and made his way towards his section.

It wasn't easy. Everyone was tightly packed, and Hastiin was pretty short. Sure, he was fit from work, but it was still a _bitch_ to shove his way through all the roped sections to get to the 14 year old male pen.

It also took a bit of maneuvering to find his friend Myrt—but at least the friendly boy was at edges of the pack. With a final grunt, Hastiin stumbled in place next to the tiny, underfed boy.

"Hey, Hastiin!" Myrt greeted brightly, grinning. The boy looked like he was drowning in his own sweat.

"Hey," he said politely, giving a grin down at the boy—who was even shorter than **him**. "Been here long?"

"Nope, thankfully," the other boy noted, giving a tinkling laugh. "But our Escort has. He looks like he could go _swimming_ in his sweat."

Hastiin looked up at the stage, easily finding the ridiculous visage of Sushi Diver, District Eleven's Escort from the Capitol. The man looked murderous, complaining loudly to the Mayor, gesticulating wildly at his sweat-soaked clothing.

"At least he didn't wear his asinine cape this year," Hastiin noted dryly, feeling smug at the man's discomfort.

Last year, the Capitolite had worn some ridiculous, large, scale-like cape. It was obvious that the cape draped on him had been causing him to sweat incredible amounts. Last year, mid-Reaping, the man ripped the cape off and threw it to the side of the stage in a fit, cursing loudly and screeching about the heat.

This year, the man was stupid enough to wear black slacks and an oddly puffy, long-sleeved shirt. However, he had unbuttoned the shirt fully, showing his pale, scrawny abdomen. A vivid blue sash was tied around his waist—most likely to make up for the fact that he wasn't wearing his cape this year.

Sushi Diver's ridiculousness made the entire Reaping seem much less intimidating—at least, to Hastiin. He felt oddly at ease, whilst the rest of the teens seemed to be buzzing with worry.

No, _ease_ wasn't the right word. He felt energy in his veins, felt like he should be **doing** something. He wasn't worried about the Reaping, but also didn't like just _standing there_ like a complacent **sheep**.

And in that instant, Hastiin knew. He knew what he was feeling, and what he wanted to do.

He would be the only one willing enough to do it. To do something **worthwhile**.

Because how many teenagers actually attempted to use the resources given to them to create a way to fight the system, from the inside…?


	8. D1-D2 Reapings: Boom Clap

**AN**: I hate school, so, so much…Gah, all the work I have to do, leaving me so little true free time is killing me!

Anyways, I decided to just group the Reapings by each 2 Districts, or else this'll drag on forever. Each Reaping is 3k or so words.

* * *

**D1-D2 Reapings: Boom Clap**

_"Boom, clap,  
The sound of my heart,  
The beat goes on and on and on and on and…"_

* * *

**Mediah Flash, Victor of the 8****th**** Annual Hunger Games, D1  
**

Today was the day he's been waiting for. Soon, the Hunger Games will officially begin.

And maybe **this** time, one of his trained Careers will finally take the crown.

Mediah didn't particularly _hate_ any of the Victors that won, just because they weren't some of his trained Careers. Sure, Niveus was despised by almost the entirety of the nation, Lehvant was a bit of a cold bitch, Yoshiro was an assholish genius, Riyo was an arrogant ice queen, Woof only managed to win by pure and utter dumb luck, Eshana became a broken husk, and Taz also managed to win with mostly luck...

He was _irritated_ by some of them, but he didn't _hate_ them. There was a difference.

Even if the outer District Victors didn't exactly train or work for their Victory, he wasn't going to just dismiss them like a total tool. He respected them for being able to survive a death match, despite the odds. And some of them truly did spectacular feats for their Victory—Lehvant, Yoshiro, and Taz came to mind instantly.

But as Mediah slowly got ready for the day—waking up his beautiful wife and child, sitting down at the table for breakfast, looking over the files of his chosen Volunteers one final time—he couldn't help but hope that his hard work would **finally** pay off. That maybe, this year, one of his Tributes could manage to survive the finale, unlike the countless of other teens preceding them.

It was almost like a curse. A District One kid would reach the final few—even the very finale— and then promptly die, before they could take the crown. The 9th, 12th, 13th, 15th, 18th, and 20th were all years where it happened. All years that District One **could** have gotten their third Victor.

Mediah was starting to get frustrated. He has promised Panem—particularly, the Capitol—that One would produce more impressive Victors, like him. Strong, charismatic, _trained and ready_.

He's managed to inspire Two and Four to follow his model and ideas. That was all well and good—very helpful for the future of Careers, in fact… But he just wanted one of his kids—the teens he put so much time and effort on to train and help—to **win** for once, damn it!

As he helped his four year old daughter wriggle into her poofy Reaping dress, he took note of his selfishness. Sirona was almost onto her second decade, Mentoring by herself. The depressed and unstable Niveus was alone for a decade now, and last year his chance of getting a partner was ripped from right in front of him. Eleven and Twelve also had only one Victor, even if they were still fresh-faced.

But, at the very least, he could admit that he was selfish. That was one of his faults.

And as he smile down at his precious little girl— who giggled and twirled around, begging him to tie up her hair in ribbons—he couldn't help but feel that he had a damn good reason for his selfishness. He wanted kids to be trained and able-bodied— ready to Volunteer, ready for the Games— so they could _survive_. He wanted Volunteers that were prepared to step in and take another's place, so his little Gem and other precious young ones wouldn't _ever_ have to.

Mediah put up Gem's hair into pigtails with ribbons, with practiced ease. He then scooped her up in his arms, and went to his bedroom to check up on his wife.

Who happened to be stressing out which dress to choose for the Reaping, pacing the room vehemently. "Honeeeeey," Angel whined as she faced her husband, voice jumping up an octave in hysteria.

Mediah gave her a calming smile, setting down his giggling daughter on their large bed, to help assist his finicky wife with her choice of wardrobe.

"Didn't you choose your dress last night…?" he asked her, as he casually stepped into the walk-in closet to survey the abundance of dresses his wife owned, the blonde scurrying in behind him.

"Yes—but what if it's too uglyyyyy?" Angel pouted. "Or what if it's—Oh God—" she paled, lowering her voice into a whisper, "_out of style?!_"

"Sweetie," Mediah stated, putting a hand on her shoulder to keep her from rushing around like a chicken with her head cut off. "You look beautiful when you wear **anything**," he told her firmly, before giving a small smirk. "Or **nothing**."

She giggled, slapping his shoulder lightly. "Oh **you**, always the charmer," she said, grinning, as he wrapped his hands around her middle.

Mediah smirked, nuzzling her neck, which made her give a breathy giggle. "How about this one?" he murmured huskily in her ear, as he reached out to a hanger that held a little black dress.

It had extra straps of cloth at the bottom and sleeves, and held a sprinkling of gems on the neckline that trailed down. It was elegant and somewhat simple, compared to some of the other garish Capitol dresses Angel owned. She beamed back at him, giving him a quick kiss.

"It's perfect! It'll go great with my new pair of shoes," she noted, grinning widely, as she disentangled herself from his grip to quickly grab the dress and hunt for said pair of shoes.

"Hmmm…Can I help you put it on?" he asked her lightly, eyebrows raised, giving her a pointed look and playful smirk.

She gave him a playful look back. "Mediah, Gem's still in our bedroom, and you should pass her off to your mama and papa, for the Reaping…"

He gave a dramatic sigh. "Fine, fine…" he drawled, a smile twitching on his lips. "But next time we're alone, you're not getting away from me **that** easily."

She rolled her eyes with a lopsided smile, her dimples showing up on her smooth face. "Even though I enjoy our alone time, dear, we have to think about the children. I would rather not have a fiasco like **last** time…"

Mediah snorted derisively. "We were caught **once,** and that was **years** ago. It's not like the kid didn't know what sex was…"

Angel gave an exasperated huff, and shoved him towards the door, her cheeks pink. "Just go. I'll try not to take too long."

With a snicker, Mediah exited the closet, quickly picking up his daughter. "Alright, my little diamond—we're going to leave you with your grandparents for the Reaping, and until we get back from the Capitol," he told the bundle of energy in his arms, as he strode towards the front door. He tapped her on the nose, causing her to giggle. "So behave."

"Yes, Daddy," Gem chirped. Mediah quickly stepped out of his home, simply striding over to the one next door, depositing his daughter to his mother before he doubled back.

Time was ticking down, but thankfully, getting the huge family ready to leave wasn't as hard as he'd considered. Soon enough, the entire Flash family made their way out of the Victor's Village, towards the Reaping.

The family passed through the decorated streets of the largest city of One—Jewel City—entering the spacious city square. The high-end shops were covered in giant banners, streamers twisting like colorful snakes amongst the towering lampposts, the well-polished cobblestones littered with confetti. Already, the Square was buzzing, full of the Reaping-age children in attendance, standing amongst their roped-off sections.

Mediah somehow managed to wrench the both of them away from their families, and they quickly passed through the outskirts of the Square to get to the high, polished stage at the front. Once they went up the steps on stage left, they were enveloped in a dramatic hug by their Escort, Nebula Vetruvius.

"Dahlings, you're both looking well!" she exclaimed in her deep tone, as she pulled them both into quick hugs. "Is little Gem safely with your parents?"

"Yes," answered Angel with a smile.

Nebula was wearing her penchant wig—purple, long, and flowing—as well as a space-themed, robe-like dress. The woman also still kept her unnerving white eyes and pitch-black diamond-studded skin. She took her name and space theme very seriously—something about how it was an impacting, memorable image.

The couple went over to their seats on the stage, and the Capitolite went to the microphone. Mediah clutched his wife's hand, feeling excited.

"It's showtime!" Angel whispered in his ear, giving a bounce. The Mayor took that time to start—starting the opening speech, and welcoming the crowd to the Reaping for the 21st Annual Hunger Games.

"Now, let us take notice of our splendid Victors," the Mayor intoned. "Angelica Shine, winner of the 4th Annual Hunger Games, and Mediah Flash, winner of the 8th Annual Hunger Games!"

The couple stepped forwards, beaming with pride, waving to the roaring crowd together. Once the cheers died down, they stepped back to their previous positions.

Mediah's mind wandered, as his eyes roved across the crowd. He knew it was bad form, to not pay attention like so many others, and that he was a Victor…But the ceremony was honestly **very** tedious and repetitive. He had all the speeches memorized word-for-word, and the recaps only ever cut to the actual name pulling anyways…

"And now, for the female Tribute…!" Nebula started slowly, before gliding up to the glass bowl for the girls. She swirled her hand above the bowl, before plucking a slip, and going back to the microphone.

Before the woman could speak, there was a shout of "I Volunteer!" from the crowd. Mediah gave a smirk—the girl wasn't a fan of this entire thing dragging out, like him.

Regina Gabriella easily traversed across the section of 18 year old girls, strutting purposefully up to the stage, looking determined and fierce. For once, she wasn't wearing casual clothing, had her hair in braids, or was toting her skateboard.

Regina Gabriella had her dark hair up into a curly half-updo. She was wearing a very proper tea-length purple dress that had a lace bodice and sheer, three quarter inch sleeves. As she strode up the stage, he also noted that she was very precise in her accessories. Fishnet stockings; black lace choker; knee-high, silver, gladiator sandals; silver turtle earrings.

Mediah gave a bemused grin, as he noted that he honestly would not have known any of the precise fashion terminology, if not for his wife.

"I'm Ginny," the girl said into the microphone swiftly. "And I Volunteered to show my parents that I can, in fact, survive the harsh environment of the Games, and come back to One." At this, she lifted her chin, glaring at the crowd. "I'm the strongest candidate for this position, so **don't** underestimate me."

Mediah nodded, noting that proving her parents wrong had been a huge driving force to the girl. But the other was obviously her girlfriend—Regina Gabriella would not have worked as hard as she did, without the blonde girl by her side.

"Ah—very sassy," Nebula noted with a grin. "Now, for the male Tribute…!"

Regina Gabriella crossed her arms, tapping her foot at the Escort's drawn-out theatrics, and Mediah felt like laughing.

Nebula finally glided back to the microphone, slip in hand. "Our male Tribute is…Marble Revolve," she intoned. There was a shuffling from one of the younger male sections, and a boy boredly made his way on stage. There was a long, silent pause, before the Escort spoke once more. "Are there any Volunteers…?"

"I Volunteer!" called out a voice clearly. Mediah nodded; it was like Devon to do things properly, and never quickly jump into things.

Devon emerged from the 18 year old male section, giving a charming, polite smile as he strolled evenly towards the stage. The boy was wearing a blue silk shirt, and dark pants. They looked like jeans—very nicely tailored and expensive jeans, but jeans nonetheless.

Huh. Mediah thought that Devon was so proper, that he'd be wearing some type of suit to this event.

As Devon neared the stage, Mediah noted that his smile—although very handsome—was blatantly hollow and plastic. He was obviously having second thoughts, but it was too late to back out.

Then again, Devon never truly seemed like he wanted to Volunteer. Sure, maybe he'd convinced himself that he wanted to, and he was very strong and skilled—but he never had the true intent in himself.

"Hello. I'm Devon Mahone," he spoke into the microphone, giving a pleasant smile to the cameras. "It's an honor to be here. I hope to be the Victor of the 21st Annual Hunger Games, with my strength, and bring honor and fortune to District One."

The boy sure was working up the charm to please One and the Capitol. But Mediah wasn't stupid. He **knew** that Devon had been all but forced by his mother, Sansa Mahone, to enter the Tribute Academy. From actual experience, Mediah knew that the short woman was a blunt, manipulative snake with some deep issues.

"What a _gentleman_," Nebula crooned, looking pleased. She told the two to shake hands—which they both did, in a firm, curt manner. The purple-haired woman then raised each of their hands besides her, as if she was crowning them both champions. "District One, your Tributes…!"

The crowd roared in approval, and confetti rained down from the roofs. Mediah gave a pleased sigh, noting the shining and grateful eyes of the younger children, as they stared up happily at the two strong 18 year olds.

The two teens were ushered off the stage by Peacekeepers, and led towards the Justice Building for their goodbyes. He and Angel wouldn't be seeing them for a few hours.

District One, after all, was the first to have their Reaping, as well as one of the closest Districts to the Capitol. This allowed the Tributes to spend almost the rest of the day with their friends and loved ones, before they set off at late evening. Why, they could hypothetically set off the next day in the morning, and they would **still** be early—but it was never practiced.

The couple languidly made their way to their families, ready to spend the next few hours with them, before they had to go to the Capitol and Mentor for another year.

* * *

**Devon Mahone, 18, D1  
**

Devon looked around curiously at the décor within the room he was escorted into. After just a minute, his family piled in. Devon gave a smile, noting that even his stepfather came. The man looked cross, but he at least decided to put in the effort of being a decent human being, to come and send off his stepson.

Honestly, sometimes Devon wondered how his siblings could be so much **better** and **different** than their father. Matheu Trinati was a jackass that only married his mother for her beauty and social status, and he was always grouchy or derisive.

The first person that reached Devon was his mother. With a face-splitting grin, he hugged her tightly as she cooed to him.

"That was such a **perfect** introduction, Devon. I'm sure **everyone** in the Capitol will sponsor you. Such a charming boy..." she told him, giving him a few pats on the back, before she pulled out of his embrace.

His siblings then tackled him in a large hug, and he laughed happily. His indecision and doubts were becoming muted, and the stress of his body slowly leaked away.

Devon sat down on the plush velvet couch, his little sister Kalia on his lap, as he spent time chatting with his family. His stepfather had lasted a half hour— sitting as far away as possible on the couch—before he finally left the room with some half-assed excuse about needing to do something work-related. Even though today, there was no work.

He honestly wasn't surprised, and felt happier without the negative man there. He basked in his family's love and attention. After almost 3 hours, his mother stood up to bid farewell, and take his siblings with her.

"My little Victor…You'll do me proud, won't you, Devon?" the woman murmured in honeyed tones, stroking his hair and holding him in an incredibly intimate way—one which was completely different from her usual countenance.

"I will," he replied readily. "Anything for you, Mother."

"Good, good…" Sansa replied, voice far-off as she suddenly stared off in the middle-distance, an off-putting grin slowly crawling up her face. "You'll come back to me, full of riches…Not like your father…No, you're a good boy, even if you look like him…Such a good boy…Going to make Mommy proud…"

Devon's siblings started to look weirded out, by this point, leaning heavily away from the short woman. Sansa then finally detached herself from her son, who saw nothing off about her actions.

His siblings gave him one last hug and farewell, awkwardly shuffling out after Sansa, talking quietly amongst themselves about possibly getting their mother to see a psychiatrist. Neither Devon nor Sansa noted the hushed discussion.

Barely after his family left, Devon's best friends and girlfriend rushed into the room. Devon had just enough time to catch Esmeralda, who flung herself at him.

"God, we've been waiting fucking **forever** to see you, man!" Jensen crowed, looking annoyed, as he pounced Devon after the girl let go.

"Well, he's got a few hours to say goodbye. One is right next to the Capitol, after all," Helios noted calmly with a grin, stepping forwards to hug Devon after the blonde boy let go.

After about an hour of chatting and banter, a disturbance happened that weirded out Devon. Helios suddenly started to cry, choking on his answer mid-conversation, tears sliding down his face.

"…I'm gonna miss you so much, Dev…You're like a brother to me, and I just…" Helios hiccoughed. Esmeralda slid off of Devon's lap, and Devon's best friend threw himself into his arms, shaking.

Devon was unsure of what to do. Through all the time his mother was in hysterics about his father leaving them, he never picked up how to comfort crying people.

"Yeesh, you can't just **cry** like that, man!" Jensen said, alarmed. "Even though I'm gonna miss Devon too, crying's just…just…"

Suddenly, Jensen started wailing, and latched himself onto Devon as well. Devon was taken aback once more; the butcher's son had too much _pride_ and _bravado_ to cry. Devon looked over nervously at his girlfriend, hoping that she wouldn't start crying too. He was already buried under two usually strong guy friends, bawling and drowning him in their tears, and he was barely keeping himself from panicking.

Esmeralda looked watery-eyed, but gave him a tight smile, knowing that Devon was out of his element. "How about you two go take a few minutes to, um, calm down…? I don't think you'd want to leave this as a lasting impression…"

After another uncomfortable minute, his crying friends were out of the room, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He gave a wan, grateful smile to the girl. "Thanks, Esmeralda."

"It's no problem," she said quietly, awkwardly standing in front of him. Devon stared at her, wondering why she wasn't sitting down, hoping she wasn't going to make the visit even **more** awkward in some way…

"Um, I need to tell you something, Devon," she started, twisting a strand of her blonde hair around her finger nervously.

"…You're not going to start crying too, are you?" he asked weakly.

"Oh, no! No, this is good news," she told him quickly, giving a small grin. He waited patiently for her answer, giving a benign smile.

The girl took a deep breath, a wide grin blooming on her face. "I'm pregnant."

There was a long pause. Devon stared at her, wide-eyed, feeling like he just got punched in the gut. "But…We only…_made love_…once," he uttered slowly, feeling like his mind and mouth were stuffed with cotton.

Esmeralda's dark eyes shined brightly. "Once can be all it takes…And statistics show that the first time has the highest rate of getting a girl pregnant."

He stared silently at her, a dark thought crossing his mind, his stomach churning. "Are you…sure it's **mine**?" he asked her, giving her a suspicious look.

She gaped at him. "Of course it is! Why wouldn't it be?!" she asked, looking hurt.

Jealous thoughts passed through his head. Esmeralda was very pretty, so it's not like it would be hard for her to find a man to have sex with…

Outwardly, Devon gave a weak shrug, passing his hand through his hair, his expression turning stressed. "I'm just having a hard time believing the news. N-Not that I didn't enjoy it, but that night, erm…Wasn't exactly planned…" he said awkwardly, turning redder by the second, as he buried his face in his hands. "God, we should've waited until we were married…!"

Esmeralda quickly hugged Devon to her chest. "We can do that, when you come back! We've just gone, um, a little out of order, is all…"

The two sat there for another fifteen minutes, the silence thick.

"Holy shit…We're going to be parents…" Devon breathed, still trying to wrap his mind around this bombshell.

Now he would have to fight **twice** as hard. For his new family.

* * *

**Regina Gabriella 'Ginny' Saunders, 18, D1  
**

In the next room over, Ginny and her girlfriend Lilyanne were enjoying themselves immensely, the stress from speaking stiffly with her parents leaving Ginny's body. After Lilyanne had hugged her and babbled about how worried she was, Ginny had kissed her to calm her down, and it simply…escalated from there.

Between heated kisses, the girls were planning out their lives, after Ginny won the Games. They were both determined to get married and stay in Ginny's house in Victor's Village, but they were trying to figure out if they were going to adopt a girl or boy first.

Ginny smirked as the blonde gave a drawn-out moan, that she tried to muffle on Ginny's shoulder. "I win," the dark-haired girl noted in a pleased purr. "A boy, it is."

* * *

**Eshana Phoenix, Victor of the 17****th**** Annual Hunger Games, D2  
**

Eshana lay on her bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Her doctor had told her that meditating could help her sleep, but she simply wiped her mind and stared at the colorful ceiling of her bedroom every single day, until she was forced to get out of bed.

Eshana tilted her head, deciding that if she ever mustered the energy or inspiration, maybe she could try painting another phoenix on her ceiling. One that was crying. Phoenixes apparently had magical healing tears.

How ironic.

Not five minutes later, Eshana heard someone enter her home. She lay there listlessly, noting the precise, confident gait of Riyo—who swiftly entered her bedroom, without a single pause.

"Get up," Riyo ordered, closing the door behind her. Eshana noted that in her peripherals, Riyo was glaring heatedly at her. "Why are you naked, **again**?" she asked, pushing up her glasses. Her face was pink.

Eshana supposed that most people would either feel embarrassed or aroused by being caught naked by another person. The lack of reaction or care always irritated her fellow Victor.

Eshana turned her head to look Riyo squarely, and raised one of her shoulders slightly. "Didn't feel like putting on clothes," she said tonelessly. "It was also hot."

The bespectacled girl gave a scoff, storming off towards Eshana's closet. "We have air conditioning and fans for the heat, Eshana," she said imperiously, as she wrenched open the closet door, and rifled through the hangers.

Eshana didn't answer, looking up at her ceiling to the lava-spewing volcano she'd painted in the corner. It was rarely physically hot in her house; but that wasn't the reason for her feeling warm. She felt that way any time she had nightmares about her Arena—a volcanic wasteland.

Riyo rifled in Eshana's drawers, and finally stomped off to loom over Eshana, a pile of clothing in her arms. "Get dressed," she ordered with a sniff. "Today's the Reaping. You have to be ready and presentable."

"That makes me want to get up even less," Eshana said dully, pointedly looking away from Riyo, who growled. After a minor struggle—in which Eshana lay bonelessly like a sack of potatoes, and Riyo tried to get her to sit up without touching her inappropriately—Eshana was sitting up in her bed.

"Dressing you is **such** a pain," Riyo muttered, as she began to maneuver Eshana's prosthetic limbs, to put her in a black bra. "You see, **this** is why you need a maid. Your mother and I can't do **everything** for you, Eshana!"

"And yet, you do," Eshana noted dully. Riyo gave a sniff, her face turning red.

"W-Well," she spluttered, "**One** of us Victors has to be the responsible one!"

After a few minutes, Eshana was dressed in a white blazer and black skirt. Riyo always dressed her in such an outfit for the Reapings, since Eshana had worn a similar color scheme for her very own Reaping.

Riyo managed to get her to stand up and go to the kitchen. There, her mother already had breakfast ready. Eshana plopped down on a chair, and stared down listlessly at the plate of scrambled eggs, accompanied with a grilled cheese sandwich.

Eshana felt the stares of Riyo and her mother, but didn't feel motivated to actually eat. With a worried sigh, her mother sat next to her, and began to feed her forkfuls of eggs. After the eggs were gone and Eshana didn't move to eat anything else, Riyo pestered her until she slowly picked up the grilled cheese sandwich, and began to slowly eat it.

"Our next stop is Marcus' house," Riyo stated, arms crossed. Eshana's mother rushed into the kitchen, coming back with a plate of eggs and toast for Marcus. Riyo passed the plate to Eshana, when she stood up.

"Take it. **I'll** be the one storming into his house to make the shut-in get up, and I need my hands unoccupied for that," Riyo stated, taking Eshana by her shoulders and steering her out the door.

Eshana trailed behind Riyo, on their trek to Marcus' home. She noted that the yard was becoming unkempt. Riyo wouldn't like that.

"I'll have to hire someone to tend to his lawn, again…" Riyo muttered exasperatedly. "That man should honestly stop firing the help! It's not as if he doesn't do anything other than wallow in his own filth, like a dirty hermit…"

Eshana was silent. **She** would be like Marcus, if she had her way.

She supposes the only reason Riyo was so harsh on Marcus was because he had been her Mentor, and his wallowing disappointed her. It could also be because he abandoned Eshana after her Victory, and fully shut himself off in his house, so he wouldn't have to Mentor another year in his life.

Eshana didn't really blame him for that, even if Riyo did.

The two entered Marcus' home with ease, both heading towards his bedroom. Riyo banged on his door. "You better be awake and clothed!" she yelled loudly through the wood.

The two girls stood silently for a few moments, before they heard the tired croak of "Come in" from their old Mentor. Riyo opened the door and stormed into the room, Eshana slowly stepping in behind her.

Marcus was sitting up on his bed, dressed in a white button-up and black slacks. His hair was a mess, as if he had passed an irritated hand through it multiple times, and he had dark circles under his eyes. He was contemplating a razor with an oddly intense look in his haunted eyes, before he set it aside on his bedside table, and looked up at them.

"Hello, girls," he said tiredly, giving them a wan smile, looking guilty.

Riyo crossed her arms, narrowing his eyes at him. "You weren't thinking of…"

"No," he said tonelessly, shaking his head. He picked up the electronic device sitting next to him, waving it slightly. "I've been speaking with—"

"Sirona," Riyo interjected, nodding her head. "That explains why you're already dressed. Usually, you're just lying there, shirtless, and I have to force you to put some clothes on."

Marcus gave an embarrassed nod. "Yes. And I am very grateful for this new model of cell phone—it slides up with a keyboard on the bottom. It makes it much easier to message others."

Eshana tilted her head, staring at the devise in his hand. Capitol technology was so…odd. She was still getting used to using her **regular** telephone, much less a cell phone.

"Mrs. Phoenix sent you some breakfast," Riyo said, jerking her head back towards the plate in Eshana's hands. Eshana silently stepped forwards, passing Marcus the plate— who nodded and gave a small, grateful smile.

"Although, if you actually **kept** one of the maids I keep trying to get you, you wouldn't have to worry about when your next meal would be…" Riyo added, grumbling. Marcus took that time to eat the plate of food, rather than try and argue with Riyo. Smart.

After he finished, he stood up, putting his cell phone in his pocket. "Alright, girls," he started grimly, "It's time to go."

The three exited his dark home, Riyo muttering all the while about how _she_ was the only reason they would ever get to the Reaping on time. Eshana's mother and Riyo's parents were already outside, ready to go.

The group walked out of the Victor's Village, and towards the Reaping, together. The entire way, Marcus was furiously tapping away on his phone, obviously becoming nervous and agitated as they neared the Reaping. Eshana looked around listlessly at the streets, noting all the white banners and streamers.

Soon enough, the trio were up on the sturdy stage, Riyo commenting that they should try to break the habit of getting to the Reaping just five minutes before it started. The Mayor and their Escort were already in their spots, and the entire Square was filled with the citizens of Two.

Marcus kept his eyes to the phone in his hand, standing stiffly, as if trying his hardest to forget where he was at the moment. Eshana merely stared off into the distance. Riyo was whispering harshly in their ears, trying to get the both of them to _try_ and look professional and interested.

Eshana zoned out after "Welcome". After a few minutes, she finally turned her gaze to their Escort, Lousc Edenshaw, noting that they still looked the same as always. Still 7 feet tall, with their olive-brown skin, silver hair, and built like a Greek warrior.

When the Mayor called the names of the Victors for District Two, the three stepped forwards to become recognized. Eshana and Marcus only gave one curt nod, whilst Riyo waved imperiously, as if she was a queen.

More dull speeches, and then Lousc finally said, "Now, for the female Tribute." Before they could react, there was a quick screech of "I Volunteer!" amongst the crowd.

Eshana blinked owlishly as Zie Raquelle burst out of the 16 year old female section, barreling through her peers.

That wasn't supposed to happen. Zie hadn't been chosen to Volunteer by the Tribute Academy.

Eshana could feel the anger coming off Riyo in waves. "You have **got** to be kidding me! **What** is she doing?!" she hissed, looking ready to skewer the girl— who was cackling happily, as she rushed onto the stage.

Zie stepped up next to the towering Escort, a wild look on her face, smoothing down her sleeveless, pale peach dress. The color went well with the strand of pearls around her neck.

"What's your name, miss…?" Lousc asked, bending down to pass the microphone to the girl, who took it with a bright smile.

"I'm Zie! I like adrenaline rushes, stabbing things with anything that's pointy, and playing card games with Mister the hobo," she said, giving an off-putting, mad giggle. She gave an enthusiastic wave to the camera. "Heeeelloooo! I hope I can get to staaaab you aaaaaall!"

Lousc gave an awkward cough, taking the microphone back. "Interesting," they said, before quickly adding, "Now, the male Tribute." Before the silver-haired Escort could take a step towards the bowl, there came another disturbance.

"Ooh, ooh! Me! Pick me!" exclaimed someone excitedly. Eshana easily picked out that it came from Boom Barrius, who towered over the rest of his peers at 6 feet 5 inches.

The boy was jumping up and down, his hand in the air, a large smile on his face. He wriggled around so much, that his fellow 18 year old boys quickly stepped away from him, in fear of accidentally getting squashed.

Boom bounded out of his section, barreling into many others as he rushed past. Eshana was vividly reminded of a large, playful dog. Boom rushed up to the stage, bright smile in place, looking very smart in his black suit and blue shirt.

Everyone stared at him, as he simply rocked on his feet next to the Escort. He gave a clueless grin, looking around at everyone, before realization dawned on him. "Ohhhh, that's right! I didn't actually Volunteer, huh?" he asked cheerily, bouncing a bit on his heals. "I Volunteer, and stuff!"

Besides her, Riyo facepalmed. "At least no one else took his spot…" she muttered tersely.

After another stiff pause, Lousc spoke. "Ah. And your name…?"

The giant boy leaned over, speaking into the microphone in Lousc's hand. "My name's Boom! Actually, not really— but everyone calls me that!" he started, before looking down at his District partner, and giving her a grin.

"I like fireworks, explosions, and being happy!" he said, taking a leaf out of Zie's book. "Heeeelloooooo! I hope I can blow a looooot of you up—'cuz explosions are a bang, yeah?" he told the cameras, giving a bright grin and an excited wave.

The Escort gave another awkward cough. "Shake hands," Lousc told them. Boom leaned down, and Zie took his large hand in hers, pumping it up and down. The two gave loud, long laughs in-synch; it was slightly unnerving.

"District Two, your Tributes," the Capitolite stated dully. Despite the utter…oddness of the Reaping, and the Volunteers… the crowd still clapped and cheered. The two teens bounced around, hyperactive, waving and smiling to the crowd.

The Reaping officially ended, and about a dozen Peacekeepers swarmed the Tributes, looking very nervous. They stiffly escorted the duo off to the Justice Building, another half-dozen Peacekeepers trying to inconspicuously follow them.

Eshana wasn't fazed by the sight. Boom was a giant who looked intimidating, and had a penchant for being able to blow almost anything up. Zie had run-ins with the Peacekeepers before, because of building jumping and stabbings. It made sense that the Peacekeepers wanted to keep close tabs on them, just in case.

"Good luck with them," Marcus told Eshana and Riyo, giving an amused snort. "You're going to need it." He quickly left them, intent on holing himself back up in his self-made prison.

"That damn shut-in…" Riyo groused, glaring at the man's back. She huffed, throwing her hands up in the hair. "This Reaping was an utter **disaster**! I cannot _believe_ that loony adrenaline junky took Metricity's spot!" she started to rant. "And Isko just reached a whole new level of stupidity! God, I hope that boy actually uses his club, for once—he'll get himself **killed** if he doesn't!"

Eshana merely staid quiet, knowing that the Asian needed to rant, and get it all out of her system. After a few more minutes, Riyo whirled on her.

"I don't think you'd be capable of reigning in that insane little moron," the bespectacled woman stated, crossing her arms. "So **I'll** take Zie. God knows that Isko actually listens to **you** more, anyways…"

Eshana nodded, not particularly caring about who would officially Mentor which Tribute. She and Riyo Mentored as a team, anyways.

* * *

**Isko 'Boom' Barrius, 18, D2  
**

Boom hummed happily, completely ignoring the nervousness of the Peacekeepers escorting him. They took him to a really nice, fancy room, and he '_ooooohed'_ and '_ahhhhed'_ at the décor.

Everything in here looked expensive. Boom carefully padded over to the largest piece of furniture in the room, not wanting to break anything. He wasn't sure if the 'you break it, you buy it' policy was the same here, as it was in stores.

After sitting down on the very large and very comfortable couch, the door opened, and in piled Boom's family of giants. He beamed, stretching out his arms, and his two brothers both rushed and tackled him on the couch.

"I can't believe you're actually going into the Games!" Jejomar—Boom's 16 year old brother—exclaimed.

"I know! It's so coooool!" exclaimed Rizal, bouncing whilst he hugged his eldest brother.

Boom simply laughed, ruffling both of their heads. "I'm pretty stoked about this, too!"

"Do **I** get a chance for a hug?" asked their father, Sayen Barrius, a lopsided grin on his face as he watched his excitable sons. He was rather thin and short compared to the rest of his family of giants—yet standing at a still impressive 5 feet 10 inches, compared to _average_ people.

"Of course," Boom chuckled, somehow managing to rip his younger brothers off of him, and plop them next to him on the quickly-shrinking couch. He stood up, and Sayen stepped forwards, giving him a hug and clap on the back.

After the man pulled back from Boom's bear hug, Jovlyn Barrius finally stepped forwards.

"Please be careful, Boom," she sighed as she hugged her eldest son. She stepped back at arm's length, and started to straighten out his hair and suit.

"Mom, I'll be fine!" Boom said bemusedly, trying to wriggle out of her ironclad grip. "You've seen me Train—heck, you've actually **Trained** me! I'm pretty strong, so there's nothing to worry about!"

His mother huffed, hands on her hips as she glared at him. "As long as you don't stupidly play around with explosions—"

"I know what I'm doing!" he interjected, pouting, giving her puppy-dog eyes. Her mouth became a thin line.

"_Boom_," she started warningly. "If you get yourself killed because of an explosion, I'll kill you with my bare hands, you hear me?!"

"But then he'd be dead," muttered Rizal, confused. "You can't kill someone if they're already dead, can you, Jejomar?"

"I don't think so, Rizal," the middle sibling said, shrugging. Their mother sent a pointed look their way, causing them both to cease speaking. She turned back her attention to Boom, who had a confused half-smile on his face.

"Boom, just…**Promise** me you'll use your club in the Bloodbath," she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Explosives can kill many Tributes during the Bloodbath, but it could **also** kill your allies."

Boom blinked, before realization dawned on him. "Ohhhhh—you're right! Thanks for the advice, Mom!" he noted cheerily.

She sighed in fond exasperation, shaking her head. "Come, now. We've got a few hours, before you have to leave. Let's spend them as best we can."

* * *

**Terezie 'Zie' Raquelle, 16, D2  
**

Zie looked around the fancy room, quickly scurrying between all the different objects. She picked up many things, turning them over in her hands, seeing how pointy they were. She put back anything that was boring or didn't have a point, but kept things that she could use as a weapon.

She squirreled away the objects on a cool red couch that was off to the side. After about 10 or so minutes, Zie already had a steady collection of objects. Then, the door opened, and in rushed her aunt.

"Heya, Auntie!" she chirped, giving a wide grin at the frantic woman, absentmindedly twirling a candlestick in her hand.

"Zie!" the woman exclaimed, shaky and pale. She rushed over to hug her niece, bursting into frantic tears.

"Sheesh, this is weird," the teen girl muttered, awkwardly giving her aunt a few pats on the back. "Maybe you should leave if you're just gonna cry on me, Aunt Partridge!"

Before the woman could say anything, Zie had escaped from her hug, and was pushing on the woman's back, forcing her towards the door. "See ya, Auntie!" the crazy girl chirped, after she opened the door. She stepped back to give the woman a quick wave and smile.

"Z-Zie!" the woman stuttered, still wailing. "W-What? No!"

The pudgy woman then promptly fainted, hitting the floor before Zie or the Peacekeepers standing outside could react. Zie stepped forwards, nudging her aunt with her shoe.

"Huh," she noted benignly, before shrugging her shoulders. "Oh well!"

She skipped back towards the couch, twirling the candlestick in her hands like a baton. When she sat down, she saw a man tentatively step over her aunt's unconscious body, and into the room. Zie instantly brightened, recognizing him.

"Mister!" she squealed, bouncing in her seat. The hobo gave a wan smile at the girl, and kept looking back at the unconscious woman.

"Um…Is she going to get any help…?" he asked in concern. The moment he voiced concern, four Peacekeepers rushed over with a stretcher, and began to load the woman onto it. "Oh," he noted blankly.

"Mister! Mistermistermister," Zie babbled, suddenly throwing herself at him in a strong hug. "You actually came to send me off! Yay!"

"Well, of **course** I would," he answered easily, smiling down at the excitable girl. "You're my favorite girl, after all," he told her, rubbing her head like what one would do to a small child.

Zie giggled happily, pulling the man over to sit down next to her on the couch. "It won't be boring, with you here! We can play cards until I have to go, and then I'll be back when I win! Then, you can come and live with me in my super duper Victor's mansion, with my auntie."

She smiled up expectantly at him. The homeless man merely gaped down at her, wide-eyed.

"I…Sure…" he muttered, slowly taking a pack of cards from one of the grubby pockets of his jacket. "Sure thing, Zie. Anything for my favorite girl."

The two played different card games for about five hours straight. District Two was close to the Capitol, so the Tributes had a few hours, anyways. Before the man left the room, he was tackled in another enthusiastic hug.

"You're a good kid. Just like your parents," murmured into her hair, voice thick with grief. "I'm so, so sorry for being the cause of the accident at the quarries, all those years ago. They were good people."

Zie stared blankly at the man's back, as he rushed out of the room. She tried to process, in her mind, what exactly he told her, and the implications.

Before she could fully analyze the homeless man's words, Zie was collected by a squad of wary Peacekeepers. They told her to put back all the stuff she'd gathered from the room. She threw a fit, and had to be restrained.

Zie ended up being dragged forcibly, pouting, towards the train. Somehow, she'd managed to forget Mister's heavy words already—most likely a defense mechanism from her body, so that her mind wouldn't shatter even further than it was.


	9. D3-D4 Reapings: Hey Brother

**AN**: Here it is, the next Reapings chapter, like 3 weeks late or something. It's pretty dramatic, tbh.

* * *

D3-D4 Reapings: Hey Brother

"_Hey, brother! There's an endless road to rediscover,_

_Hey, sister! Know the water's sweet, but blood is thicker,  
Oh, if the sky comes falling down, for you,  
There's nothing in this world I wouldn't do."_

* * *

**Yoshiro Varsley, Victor of the 13****th**** Annual Hunger Games, D3**

When Yoshiro woke up, it was to an empty, quiet house.

The young man slowly sat up in his bed, rubbing a hand through his hair in irritation. He'd been dreaming of when he lived with his family. It was such a vivid dream, he literally heard the cacophony of chaos ringing in his ears.

But then he woke up to his large, dead-silent house in the Victor's Village. The difference was jarring, even 8 years later.

"Not like I ever liked the fuckers that made all the racket, though," Yoshiro muttered under his breath, as he shuffled his way towards the kitchen.

And wasn't that the truth? Yoshiro despised his siblings—almost every single one of them was annoying, or an attention hog. He only got lost within the mass of bodies and noise. Never recognized. Never loved. Just the expendable second-youngest.

The man gave a snort whilst he made himself a cup of strongly caffeinated tea. "I should just get over it. Mom and Dad chose those shitstains over me. Old news."

Yoshiro trudged over to his kitchen table, posture weighed down, plunking himself on his usual seat. The table was much too large for one person, and yet he never changed the sitting arrangement.

Maybe a part of him—the attention-craving, love-starved, childish part—thought that one day, someone would join him at the table. Maybe his parents. Maybe a friend.

But Yoshiro Varsley didn't have a family, or friends. He was never one for making friends. And he'd been cast from his family ever since he was Reaped for the Hunger Games. Victory and riches didn't do shit to mend his relationship with his parents, and he hated his siblings anyways, so he was estranged from the Varsleys.

Yoshiro took a long drag from his mug, giving a small sigh. He didn't even know how his (former) family was doing...

The young man drifted off to his room. He was itching to play some chess—even though he would have to play against himself. Again.

A knock on his door caused him to raise an eyebrow inquisitively, before changing directions.

"Brats, I **just** bought some cookies from you yesterday," Yoshiro called in annoyance, as he yanked the door open. But standing before him wasn't those little uniformed girls from the bakery that sold him some damn delicious cookies just yesterday evening.

Standing before him was a strangely handsome man. Yoshiro's eyes widened, as he gave an incredulous look at the man. He had to look upwards; this guy towered him at least a half fucking foot. "Who the hell are you?"

The guy—who seemed to be around his age— gave Yoshiro an amused grin. The Victor noted that he had messy dark navy hair, and almond-shaped golden eyes. He was dressed in an expensive-looking navy suit, embroidered with a complex circuitry pattern. So a Capitol bastard, eh?

"It's nice to meet you, Victor Varsley. I'm your new Escort—Maraquiis Harmajav," the strange Capitolite said.

"Who the fuck names their kid Mah-rah-qwees?" Yoshiro wondered aloud, nose wrinkling at the weird name. He gave a scoff, grumbling under his breath, "Capitolites…"

"My parents decided that mashing together consonants from two obscure languages would produce a great name. You should see how it's spelt," the golden-eyed man responded with a lopsided grin, not looking at all offended.

Yoshiro paused, staring straight into Maraquiis's eyes critically, before giving a slow nod. "Well, at least you didn't burst into hysterics like the last one. Welcome to your new shitty job, Harmajav," the younger man noted with a bark of humorless laughter.

The taller man gave an exaggerated bow. "A pleasure, I'm sure," he drawled, smirking.

Yoshiro cocked an eyebrow; this guy was **way** different from all the past Escorts for Three. Interesting.

About damn time the Capitol managed to give him someone who could tough him out.

"**And** you have a sense of humor. Here's me to hoping you're half as competent as you are pretty," Yoshiro noted dryly, before standing aside and jerking his head in towards the interior of his house. "I assume you're here to drag my ass to the Reapings, so come in—I need to get dressed properly, unless oversized sweaters are 'in' this season."

Maraquiis stepped inside, as Yoshiro closed the door. "Well, they usually are…for young women."

"Do I **look** like a little girl?!" Yoshiro spluttered, looking up at the amused smirk of the Escort.

Maraquiis blinked innocently, tilting his head to the side slightly, looking oddly endearing. "I was simply stating a fact, Victor Varsley. However, I believe that you can change the trend, if you really wanted to."

"Oh **hell** no," Yoshiro groused. "I'm already short as shit—If I wear oversized clothes, I'll look like a brat. No thanks," he snarked, before turning on his heel and striding purposefully towards his room.

Five minutes later, and Yoshiro was in black slacks and a black collared button-up, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and first two buttons undone. Maraquiis gave an appreciative bout of applause, and Yoshiro gave an exaggerated, pompous thank you. The duo left his home, making their way through the packed, cracked cement streets towards the Reaping.

They ascended the stage, Yoshiro complaining all the while to Maraquiis, who humored him. The Victor then had to soldier through the mind-numbingly boring speeches, before the ceremony got to the part that everyone actually gave a fuck about: the names.

"To change it up a bit, as my first year Escorting Three…Gentlemen first," the Escort noted, giving a pleasant smile to the crowd. He strode towards one of the glass bowls, quickly choosing a name, before returning to the microphone.

"Malcolm Fritz."

Yoshiro looked at the crowd critically. The 17 year old male section parts almost instantaneously, the boys looking relieved to distance themselves from the brown-skinned boy that wore all black.

The tall boy looked shocked for approximately three seconds, before his face is set in a mulish expression. He marches right up to the stage, and when he's next to Maraquiis, demands something so ludicrous that Yoshiro bursts into a disbelieving exclamation of "What in the everlasting fuck?".

"I want—nay, I **demand**—you to show me the slip of paper, Escort Harmajav! As proof that it is, in fact, **my** name that was called!" the boy states heatedly, arms crossed. "**Well**?"

Maraquiis took the fiasco in stride. He merely gave a placating, amused grin, before holding the slip of paper right in front of the teen's gaze. The boy ripped the piece of paper from the Capitolite's grip, intently staring down at it, his face set in a grim line.

Malcolm then proceeded to make a bigger ass of himself, if that was even possible. "Is there any other citizen of Reaping age in District Three with the same name as Malcolm Fritz, who might have also been called forth?" he asked loudly to the Square.

His question, of course, was met with silence. Yoshiro literally facepalmed at the utterly moronic theatrics that this Reaping was, so far.

Somewhere in the crowd of kids, one girl yelled, "You're the only loser named Malcolm Fritz, you tool! Get on with the Reaping!"

Yoshiro gave a snort of laughter. Whoever the bitch was, she had an irritating voice—but at least she was to the point.

Malcolm gave a pointed glare at a spot in the crowd. So he most likely knew the girl. That was _hilarious_.

Through this entire debacle, Maraquiis was still standing coolly, a bemused grin on his face. "Well, Reaping the boys first has given us an…interesting…start. Now, for the ladies."

The Capitolite strode over to the second glass bowl, quickly snatching a slip, and returned to the microphone.

"Hanako Varsley."

Yoshiro felt his blood go cold. Everything suddenly seemed to slow down to a crawl.

No. No, no, no. How was this possible?

Hanako was the youngest, but she should be **safe**. She was only about three years younger than him, so she should be 19. She shouldn't be Reaped.

Unless...Unless he got her birthday wrong.

"Oh shit," Yoshiro muttered aloud. He watched with wide eyes as his little sister nervously skittered forwards, looking as pale and shocked as he felt. As she slowly ascended the steps, he was suddenly hit with the realization that Hanako would be turning 19 in a week's time.

"Are there any Volunteers?" Maraquiis asked, tone somewhat solemn. To Yoshiro, he sounded miles away.

And then the most beautiful, irritating screech in the history of Yoshiro's young life burst through the silent Square like a jackhammer to cement. "I Volunteer!"

"What the hell?" Yoshiro muttered shakily, watching as a dark-haired girl from the 17 year old female section strut confidently towards the stage.

Hanako gave a relieved, strangled squeak. Much to his shock, she threw herself into Yoshiro's arms into a tight hug that knocked the wind out of him, before quickly skittering off the stage.

Yoshiro watched his little sister rush off to hug and cry into his parents' embrace, before ripping his gaze away and onto the insane girl that had decided to Volunteer.

The girl was around average height, and yet was still at least three inches taller than Yoshiro. She had long, straight black hair, blue eyes, and a snobbish upturned nose. She was confident, looking upon the crowd imperiously. She might have been attractive, if she didn't look like a royal bitch.

"Your name, Miss…?" the Capitolite asked, intrigued, as he angled the microphone towards the girl.

"Vulca Spark!" she answered, somehow injecting the very essence of snobbery into her voice. "I'm going to be your next Victor—and then I'll make Three a strong, Career District, like it deserves!"

"My, my, how interesting," the navy-haired man noted. "Well, you sure look like a Victor—that red dress of yours reminds me of something from Victor Angel Shine."

Vulca puffed up in pride, throwing out her chest exaggeratedly. "Well of course—I only wear the best," she purred. Malcolm scoffed, rolling his eyes besides Vulca, who threw an ugly sneer at him.

"Didn't the Career girl from One last year wear the same damn thing?" Yoshiro muttered under his breath, eyeing the cloth that was considered a 'dress' dubiously. Maraquiis gave a twitch and a small cough, looking like he wanted to laugh.

"Tributes, shake hands," the golden-eyed man ordered. The two teens faced one another with disgusted sneers on their faces, reluctantly shaking hands. The second their hands parted, they furiously wiped them on their clothing.

"District Three, your Tributes!" Maraquiis called. Oddly enough, the Square burst into applause and cheers.

Yoshiro scrunched his brow, trying to figure out what the hell was happening. He then came to the realization that those cheering were close to the duo's age group—16 to 18—as well as those from rich families.

So apparently Malcolm and Vulca's peers found them **really** fucking annoying, and one or both of them somehow pissed off people in rich families. Plus, the cheering was more in the sense of "_thank god they're gone_" and "_I'm glad it's not me_", rather than actual support for them.

Great, so he was stuck with some annoying brats for Tributes.

Yoshiro watched as the two teens were escorted off the stage and towards the Justice Building. A part of him told him that he should be grateful that the Tributes this year looked at least somewhat competent—they weren't small, weak, and underfed. The boy seemed intelligent, and the girl would gain Sponsors from the Capitol.

As the Square slowly dispersed, Yoshiro was also painfully reminded that despite whatever scathing thoughts he had over them, it still stood that Vulca Spark Volunteered to take Hanako's place. His sister just barely managed to escape an impending death because of the overconfident girl who held a voice of nails on a chalkboard. And Malcolm had fight in him—he didn't want to believe that he was Reaped, wanted to go against the Capitol however he could.

He could respect that.

No matter how grating this duo could be, Yoshiro still gave them a basic modicum of respect.

Maraquiis slowly walked over, standing next to the short man. The two looked out at the Square, staring at the large family of half-Asians that were hugging and fussing over the girl that had been Reaped.

"You should go to them," the Capitolite stated. Yoshiro snapped his head over to shoot a look at him.

"I haven't been a part of the family for 8 years," he stated dully, his gaze soon falling back on the Varsley family. He felt sick to his stomach, something deep within him yearning for him to go to them.

"I think they can make an exception for today. Go. Your sister would want it," Maraquiis said, gently pushing Yoshiro towards the stairs.

Taking a large breath, Yoshiro squared his shoulders, and walked towards the Varsley family.

_His_ family.

Yoshiro knew that he had made the right decision, when Hanako latched herself onto him, his parents quickly following suit, before his entire family enveloped him in an embrace.

In that moment, now matter how fleeting it would be, Yoshiro had a family again.

* * *

**Malcolm Fritz, 17, D3**

Malcolm sat on a comfortable chair inside the ornate room, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently. He wanted to get this trainwreck of sentimentality over and done with as quickly as possible.

Malcolm's dark eyebrows ascended to his untidy hairline when his parents passed through the door.

He had considered the possibility of them coming to send him off, of course, but it was still odd to see his uptight, traditional parents place themselves in the presence of their disowned son.

His mother looked awful—sunken face, hunched posture, red-rimmed and tear-filled eyes. His father looked mildly distressed, which was odd for the usually reserved man.

Before anyone could speak, Azariah Fritz wrapped her petite body around her son, and sobbed noisily into his chest. "It's all my fault!" she wailed. "You and your sister only made bad decisions because I didn't teach you well enough! And now you're being shipped off to a deathmatch!"

Malcolm felt baffled and lost. At that moment, he wished he had read how to comfort others, if only to make his mother stop weeping and dispel the tension. Logan Fritz stood off to the side, arms crossed, looking the mirror image of his son.

The next hour was spent in painful awkwardness as his parents tried to reconcile with him, and mend their destroyed relationship. It got so frustrating that Malcolm finally just stood up in a huff, and dismissively told them to leave, because they were wasting his time for goodbyes.

Their relationship wasn't exactly that good to begin with, and it's been about a year and change since he was disowned. An hour was a paltry attempt to make either party satisfied.

Next skittered in his sister, Felicity. Malcolm relaxed his stiff stance slightly, giving a curt grin down at the timid young woman. A staring contest ensued between the siblings, before Malcolm finally gave in. He gave a sigh, opening his arms slightly. "Come now—I know that you want to hug me, and spout sentimental and uplifting things to me."

Felicity did just that. It was definitely much less awkward than the goodbye with his parents—although, Malcolm regrettably could hear Vulca's annoying screeching from the other room.

After a half hour, Felicity finally left, replaced by the person that Malcolm had been looking forwards to seeing.

"Malcolm, my boy!" boomed good old Amadeus Kingsley, sweeping the tall teen in a bear hug. "It's a shame that your argumentative skills could not get you out of the Reaping, eh? It was still a token effort, all the same!"

"Thank you, Professor Kingsley," Malcolm said fondly, giving the wisened man the largest, most genuine smile he'd ever given in his life.

The next few hours were spent pleasantly. Malcolm felt confident and at ease with his caretaker-slash-professor-slash-friend. When a peacekeeper knocked at the door to inform them that Malcolm was to board the train in five minutes, Amadeus stopped his stream of soothing small talk.

Malcolm eyed Amadeus critically as he dug through his pockets, before presenting his protégée with a small flask.

"For your Token—it can hold water, and other liquids, in a pinch," the old man said, giving a bright smile. Malcolm just couldn't say no to taking the object as his Token, unlike how declined his parents and sister of providing him one.

Carefully, the teen took the flask on his hands, unscrewing the top to look inside. There was already liquid in it. Malcolm took a sniff, wrinkling his nose and jerking back at the foul smell.

"Alcohol? And for a minor?" he questioned, befuddled. Amadeus scratched the back of his head, giving a sheepish chuckle.

"Forgot I didn't empty it. Oh well—you can do whatever you please with the rum," the old man said lightly, giving a shrug of his shoulders.

Malcolm shook his head fondly, giving Amadeus a soft smile, and one final hug. "Thank you."

* * *

**Vulca Spark, 17, D3**

When Vulca's family entered the room, Vulca stomped right to her stepfather.

"You get **one** hug, then you either stay in the corner, or you leave," she ordered imperiously, jabbing a manicured nail at the man.

"Vulca!" exclaimed Remilia Spark, looking at her daughter, aghast. Edmund gave a tight, fake smile, gritting his teeth.

"No, honey, I understand," he said tightly, placing a calming hand on the woman's shoulder. "I can't ever replace her birth father. It pains me _deeply_, but I suppose I'll just _have_ to say goodbye, and leave you to speak with her."

Vulca glared venomously at the man, who matched her glare. They slowly, stiffly stepped forwards, embracing each other coldly for three seconds. Then they quickly parted, sneers on their faces, stepping back away from each other.

"Good luck, princess. You'll need it," her stepfather stated dryly, before shooting a charming grin at her mother and exiting the room.

Soon enough, her sister and mother were smothering her in hugs, whilst Vulca smiled smugly. She spent the rest of the goodbyes prattling away in her shrill voice, a pretty necklace her mother gave her displayed proudly on her neck. It was great, having such supportive family members.

And she was sure that the Hunger Games would be a cakewalk.

* * *

**Mags Cohen, Victor of the 9****th**** Annual Hunger Games, D4**

Mags woke up early in the morning to the sound of Festus' snores. She rolled to her side, looking over at the edge of the bed, noting that Festus was sleeping like a rock despite camping out on the floor.

Then again, the carpet was very soft and cushiony. Her little nieces and nephews dragging her to sit down on the floor constantly made her an expert on the comfort of her mansions' carpet.

Mags kept looking down at the young man with a fond smile. She'd managed to convince him that it was okay for him to camp out in her room the night before the Reaping—and he's done so ever since his first year of Mentorship, during the 17th Games. He'd always be embarrassed, but also grateful for the support.

Festus just really needed someone to be there for him. To be his family. It had been obvious to her, ever since he'd been a fresh-faced Victor. So she'd adopted him into her family, and he's been an unofficial Cohen ever since. Like a little brother to her.

Which was why she would do whatever she could to protect him, like he was any other Cohen. Lie for him. Act for him. Cheat for him.

Mags flopped down a hand, pensively running it through his soft, wavy hair. Maybe if she wasn't already committed to someone, she would tie herself to him. Just so she could protect him more. So that he wouldn't get…Sold.

The thought brings bile to her throat, even if she's calmed by the little blissful smile on his face, and how he unconsciously snuggles into her hand like a puppy.

She would try to protect Festus as long as she could, but she doesn't know how long that would even be. Eventually, things could fall apart. Maybe her girlfriend will get tired of keeping their relationship secret, or the Capitol will figure out that she and Festus aren't romantically inclined to each other.

The rushing tide of the sea will eventually sweep them away, crushing their castles to fine sand.

But for now, things are holding up. The castle is still strong. The tide is still low.

A sudden knock on her bedroom door dispelled her poetic, and somewhat morbid, thoughts.

Festus gave a sleepy snort, jerking awake. Mags instantly placed a hand on his shoulder to calm him, to keep him from jumping to his feet and attacking invisible enemies.

"Dears, you should get ready for breakfast!" came the voice of Mags' mother through the wood. "It'll take us a high-tide-and-a-half to get the entire clan ready and to the Reaping, you know how it is!"

"Coming Mama!" Mags called out, followed by a groggy thanks from Festus. The two went down to the 'main' kitchen of the mansion, Mags all but dragging the sleepy man despite her smaller frame.

The hour and a half that followed was a cacophony of chaos. The main kitchen, dining room, and living room were packed with various family members. That was the beauty of having a mansion—Mags was able to host and house many people, even her siblings' families.

Festus constantly growled about all her nieces and nephews that ate messily or got themselves dirty. He fussed over them, cleaning them up before they touched him and got him "full of snot and germs and syrup".

Although, he **did** have a point. The blouse and pants she was wearing were dirty and sticky from all the children sitting on her lap or tugging at her to get her attention. Festus' muscle shirt and workout pants weren't in a better state.

After breakfast, many of the Cohens doubled back to change themselves into their Reaping best. Festus told her he would meet up with them later, before jogging over to his mansion to change properly.

Before Mags could get to her bedroom, someone latched onto her from behind with a giggle. The blonde relaxed, a grin on her face as she realized that it was her secret girlfriend.

"Hey, Felisa. Glad you could come over," Mags hummed serenely.

"Of course I'd be here—you're my favorite girl, after all," Felisa answered with a tinkling laugh, before letting go. "You need help putting on your Reaping clothes?" she asked with a cheeky smile and a raised eyebrow.

Mags tilted her head, giving an amused grin. "I don't even know what I'm going to wear."

"Well, I can help with that!" the other woman chimed, bouncing into Mags' room, her long, brown hair swaying behind her.

The next twenty minutes were spent with Felisa critically dressing and re-dressing Mags in many outfits. Felisa was always a physical person, so the questionable and constant contact wouldn't seem suspicious to anyone—not to family, and not to any spies.

They were both careful, after all. Mags was sure to tell Felisa that they couldn't get romantic in her mansion, since it was a large possibility that it was bugged. And so far, Felisa's managed to act like she was simply Mags' best friend, instead of girlfriend.

Honestly, the ironclad grip the Capitol had on even the Victors was getting _ridiculous_.

Eventually, Mags was dressed in a blue sundress. The family managed to coral themselves together in front of the entrance, ready to leave. Festus jogged over, in a white button-up, navy vest, and navy slacks. After everyone double-checked that they were ready, the large congregation ambled out of the Victor's Village.

After a very noisy, upbeat journey, the Cohens stepped into the large cobblestoned area that would hold the Reapings. No matter how many times the Cohen clan tried to leave early for the Reapings, they always barely managed to arrive before the Reaping would start. The area was mostly filled, the Mayor and Escort waiting on the stage.

The Escort for District Four smiled at them, clad in a sparkly blue dress that left little to the imagination, her gaze lingering hungrily on Festus. The young man shifted uncomfortably, trying to discreetly ignore the plastic, spray tanned, glittery leech that was Gucci Sweets.

Mags politely smiled out at the crowd, carefully tuning out the grating sound of Gucci's voice. From Festus's glazed look, he was doing the same.

Honestly, the speeches became much less enjoyable, since Gucci became Escort 5 years ago. Before, at least Mags had **listened**.

Gucci's squeal pierced through Mags' reverie with the force of a tsunami upon the shoreline, but much less pleasant. "And now, to choose the Tributes! I think I'll keep up my little tradition—So gentlemen first!"

Mags was suddenly struck with a bout of panic. Her family was extensive—what if a Cohen was Reaped? One of her nephews, or cousins?

Mags gave a sigh in relief when the name was called, and it didn't belong to someone she was related to. She then instantly felt guilty at her selfishness, especially when the trembling, scrawny boy slowly ascended the steps.

"Are there any Volunteers?" The Capitolite asked, eyes roving around the crowd, obviously hoping to have a Tribute that was more competent than the quivering boy. Four was slowly morphing into a Career District that gave training to the children of the District, after all. It's possible that there would be someone daring enough to Volunteer, who had a modicum of Training.

Although, Volunteering in Four wasn't very popular, yet. Neither was the Training Center that Festus created. But it was a way to prepare future Tributes. That was the shining benefit of the Training Center—so it **had** to pay off, at some point.

There was a long silence. Gucci pouted in disappointment, ready to stride over to the next bowl, but a voice stopped her.

"I Volunteer as Tribute!" rang the exclamation across the clearing.

The boys in the 16 year old section parted. A tall, olive-toned boy strode confidently towards the stage, wearing a tight black muscle shirt and low-riding pants. He looked like he could be a poster boy for Four in the Capitol—he had all the Four traits that the Capitol loved, barring his dark eyes.

The teen ran a hand through his hair, making it artfully tussled, as he took the stage. He gave a smile cranked up to 11 on the charming scale; Mags could almost see the cheesy romance novel rose petals surrounding him.

"What's your name, handsome?" Gucci purred, leering at the boy as she passed the microphone to him.

"Lex Calder. Best fighter in Four—and your newest Victor," Lex answered with a broad smile and wink towards the crowd. Mags raised her eyebrows when a roar of squealing accompanied the statement.

So Lex already had fangirls…? Oh boy.

He'll be very…popular…in the Capitol.

Mags felt slightly ill, knowing that the boy didn't know of his possible future profession, if he managed to win this year's Games.

Gucci have an ear-piercing squeal. "Oh, wonderful! And now, for the ladies!"

Once again, Mags sent a small prayer to the heavens to protect her nieces and cousins from getting Reaped.

Her hopes crashed down around her when the name "Briar Indigo!" was called. Loud gasps erupted across the clearing, coming mostly from the Cohens.

Briar didn't share the Cohen surname, but she was still part of the family through her mother, Pearl. Oftentimes, when the girl's parents were too busy at work, Briar and her younger siblings would visit Mags—who would be more than happy to spend time with them.

The fifteen year old female section parted slowly to show Mags' niece, clad in a tan-colored, knee-length dress, her blonde hair tied up. Briar looked shocked, her face pale, eyes wide.

"Did…Did she really say my name?" Briar asked listlessly, turning to a girl next to her for confirmation. The girl whispered in Briar's functioning ear, causing Briar to sag and slowly trudge towards the stage.

Every step Briar took felt like a nail getting hammered into Mags' heart.

Halfway to the stage, a tall, dark-skinned girl burst from the pens. "Briar!" she screamed, running over to the blonde girl.

"Georgia!" Briar responded. But instead of hugging her, like Mags expected, Briar shoved the dark-skinned girl away. "Go back to your section, before you get in trouble!"

Georgia gaped like a fish. "Y-You just got Reaped, and you're worried about **me**? Please, Briar, let me…"

"No," Briar stated firmly, before biting her lip, looking lost. "No, I…You've never trained. I couldn't let you do that, Georgia."

"No fuckin' way…" Festus muttered incomprehensibly. "Did she really just…?" he hissed into Mags' ear.

"Yes," Mags muttered, pained. She **wanted** to blame Briar for not taking the option of _saving herself_, but she just **couldn't**. She understood where Briar came from, since they shared similar temperaments. Mags wouldn't want one of her good friends to Volunteer to take her place; she'd never forgive herself.

And even though Briar looked like she was in a fierce struggle with the issue, she was too soft-hearted to throw Georgia to the sharks.

When Briar finally stepped up onto the stage, she used her swiftness to hug Mags fiercely before someone could try and stop her.

"Oh…? Are you two…**related**?!" the Capitolite squealed, eyes gleaming in interest, a hungry smile on her face.

"Briar is my niece," Mags stated curtly, her mouth a hard line. She then gently coaxed the girl from her. Briar sniffed, but slowly made her way back towards her District partner and Escort.

"Well, this Reaping has been **exciting**, hasn't it, folks?!" Gucci exclaimed giddily, looking like she won a prize. "Now Tributes, shake hands!"

Lex took Briar's hand in his, giving a comforting, sympathetic grin down at her. Mags noted that Briar ducked her head, cheeks flushing pink.

Soon enough, Gucci was asking for a standing ovation, obviously proud of her new Tributes. Lex's fangirls were going wild, but at least half of the District was stonily silent. Out of respect, no doubt, for the bravery of both Tributes.

Mags watched as the two teens were taken away to the Justice Building for their goodbyes. She would be seeing Briar in a few hours, and from then on, they would be spending a lot of time together.

"Out of all the kids that coulda been Reaped…It had to be Briar," Festus muttered, eyes dark and mouth taut.

Mags sagged under the weight of the daunting journey ahead. "We'd been lucky before, since I'd been the only Cohen to get Reaped. But now our luck's run out."

The two were silent, staring solemnly at the flock of Cohens that were making their way towards the Justice Building. The sea breeze caressed their faces, causing their eyes to sting.

"I'll do the best I can for her, even if I ain't her mentor," Festus said, breaking the silence. Mags looked over at him in surprise. "I'm still her uncle, yeah? So even if I got Lex to worry over, I'll still have your back in helpin' her."

"Thank you, Festus," she answered softly.

He gently took her hand in his, giving a wane smile down at her. "C'mon, we're a team, ain't we? You've helped me so many times, it's 'bout time I give back and be useful."

At least Festus would be by her side, when their castle would come crashing down. Like family.

* * *

**Briar Indigo, 15, D4**

Briar hadn't even been sitting on the large black couch for five seconds before the door burst open.

From that moment on, there was a constant stream of people coming in and out of the room. All of them were family members of hers. Cohens, no matter how distantly related, came to wish her good luck and tell her how proud they were of her strength of character.

It was rather disorienting, all these people. And yet, it was much better to be surrounded by family, than to be alone in a quiet room. Briar was used to always being in a crowd, and liked being close to people.

Thankfully, she had enough time to properly interact with the Cohen clan. District Four was close to the Capitol, so she had a few hours before she was to leave. Briar sat, surrounded by her parents and siblings on the couch, talking warmly with all her visitors.

After three hours, the stream died down. Now it was only a few people loitering in the large, ornate room. And yet, Georgia Rose hadn't come in at all.

Briar's heart clenched painfully when she realized this. Was Georgia so angry at Briar declining her offer of Volunteering in her place, that she wouldn't say goodbye…?

That thought hurt her deeply. Briar looked down sadly at the coral blue ring on her right hand, fiddling with it.

Briar didn't let Georgia Volunteer for her, for the girl's own good. Georgia might be older and taller than her, but she'd never Trained. She didn't even have the intent to spear a worm on a hook—so how could she just expect Briar to stand back and let someone as pacifistic as her head into a death match, like a lamb to slaughter?

Then again, maybe she was being hypocritical. Who was she kidding—Briar didn't have any actual killing intent within her, either. She was great at archery because she used against targets and dummies, not living, breathing people.

And Briar would have **definitely** Volunteered for Georgia Rose, if she'd been Reaped instead. Even if it was stupid or impulsive or downright suicidal, she would've.

As Briar worried and debated in her head, she was bodily shaken from her thoughts by her siblings.

"Briar, you'll come back…right?" Penelope asked her big sister, eyes wide and imploring, a tight grip on her arm.

"Of course she will! Right, Briar?" Augustus asked, staring up at Briar as well from the other side.

Briar was at a loss of words, belatedly noticing that her immediate family were the only ones left in the room. Her eyes burned with tears as she looked down at the sight of her naïve, hopeful brother and sister.

"I'll try," she said, voice thick, unable to come up with a more satisfying answer. Briar was then brought into a tight hug from her mother, who started to cry wetly into her shoulder.

Marlin Indigo took that time to try and redirect his youngest children's questions. "Your Aunt Mags and Uncle Festus will do their best to bring Briar back," he told the little ones, voice deep and rumbling.

"But there's a chance that Briar can't come back, and will stay in the Capitol. And no—complaining can't change that," he added, noting the mulish expressions on the Augustus and Penelope's faces. "But you can support your sister by cheering for her, and believing in her, like good little siblings are supposed to."

The two young ones seemed to buy their father's explanation. To them, he was big and strong, and knew everything.

Once her mother let her go, Briar was drawn into a tight hug by her father. "I'm sorry I haven't been at home as much as I should have," he murmured in her good ear. She felt her already wet shoulder get even wetter, but her father didn't shake or sob. He was like a peaceful tide, in his grief.

A knock came on the door, and a Peacekeeper stuck his head inside. "You should start wrapping up. There's one more visitor to see you—and you'll be cutting it close."

There was a frantic flurry of hugs and farewells, before her family left. After a few seconds, Georgia Rose tentatively stepped into the room.

Before Briar could apologize or exclaim happily, the dark-skinned girl barreled into her, crying hysterically.

"You…Y-you better c-come back!" Georgia wailed, clutching the shorter girl protectively. "I can look after P-Penelope and Augustus, b-but they'll need their big sister, y-you hear?!"

"Of course," Briar said thickly, burying her head in the other girl's chest. "I'll come back, for all of you."

* * *

**Lex Calder, 16, D4**

Lex let out an exasperated sigh when his large, dysfunctional family started to loudly fight outside his door. He wouldn't be surprised if it came down to a full out brawl, the way it was escalating.

Lex didn't really care about any of them. He's had so many step mothers and half-fathers and partial-siblings, that it was a headache. After his birth parents divorced, they went around cheating, marrying, remarrying, and birthing kids left, right, and center. He didn't even know half of his family—his family tree was **that** much of a clusterfuck.

The sad part was that Lex literally did not give a shit about anyone in his family other than his birth father. His Dad was the one who taught him to box, who helped him become the best, who showed him how to become emotionally detached from others.

So, ironically, Lex wasn't even _that_ attached to his Dad.

Whilst his family kept debating hotly over who had the right to say goodbye to him, Lex's fangirls had come in to say goodbye and cheer him on. He gave them very fake, tired smiles, yet they still ate it up.

Then came some trainees from the Training Center. That was slightly more interesting.

The kid that Lex Volunteered for, accompanied by his family, came in to thank him and grovel. Lex shrugged dismissively at them. "I felt bad for someone so obviously unprepared to go into the Games, and I'm one of the best fighters. You do the math," he told them bluntly.

As the family awkwardly shuffled out of the room, Leila Breen and Gavin Detrench entered. "Sorry, it was hard getting in…" Leila muttered.

"Your family is insane, dude," Gavin noted with a snort, sitting down next to him. "They've started some twisted version of Family Feud."

Lex gave his two best friends a fond smile, before bringing both of them into a group hug. They were the only people he was attached to, the only ones he would completely drop his walls and masks for.

The three say in silence, before Leila murmured, "So, this is really happening."

"Yup. But don't worry—I'll be back," Lex told them. "And hopefully, it won't be in a casket."

In that moment, Lex decided that his family was worthless to him. He'll be coming back, crowned Victor, for his friends.


	10. D5-D6 Reapings: Come Together

**AN**: Who needs passing grades when you can completely forgo homework and instead write fanfiction about doomed teenagers, am I right?

I guess I forgot warnings for last chapter, but I'm remembering for this chapter. Warning: suicidal thoughts, depression, mentions of self harm, abandonment issues, shady business, and god-awful puns. You've been warned. :V

* * *

D5-D6 Reapings: Come Together

"_We've got hopes on the horizons,  
We can't stop from the climbing the mountain,  
We're sick and tired of keeping silent,  
We are, we are, we are,  
We are gonna come together_."

* * *

**Creselia Fortuna, Victor of the 5****th**** Annual Hunger Games, D5**

Creselia blissfully awoke, curled up next to her husband. She noted that his messy hair was even more tussled from his fretful sleeping patterns.

It was ironic that Creselia could doze off and sleep like a rock, in one position, and yet her innocent husband tossed and turned like he was plagued by the devil. Theoretically and logically, their roles should be reversed: **she** should have a fruitless sleep because of trauma from her Games, and **he** should sleep like a comatose individual.

Then again, Haru was always a worrier. **Especially** over her. Every since they were kids, he'd been protecting and leading her around. Creselia merely lived through everything in a daze, not quite caring about responsibilities or reality—so he did that for her.

Maybe she could sleep peacefully, because she was safe from the Hunger Games forever. Safe from killing. Safe from troubles in her cushy life of Victory.

After all, no other Victor could not boast that they won by not killing a Tribute, merely hiding and outlasting every single one. Only **she** was able to pull this off, since she'd been so forgettable and flighty and seemingly useless that even those overseeing the Games had forgotten of her presence.

"Mmmm, perhaps it was luck," she murmured. Her low mumbling was enough to jolt her husband mid-snore.

"Luck's bullshit," he muttered groggily, sitting up and passing a hand through his red hair, a small line of drool seeping from his mouth. "You won on skill."

Creselia felt amused, a small grin tugging on her lips. "How did you come to the conclusion that I was referring to my Games? I could have simply been thinking about luck in general."

"I know the tone you take, whenever you start doubting yourself," he gave her a playful poke on her stomach, causing her to giggle. "And you **know** I don't believe in luck."

"But luck **does** exist," Creselia intoned, feeling her mind slip away through various paths within it. "There's a boy in this very District who has so much luck, he could very well swim in it…"

Her husband groaned. "Not like I don't hear about **him** every damn time I pass even remotely close by the casino, or anything."

"Do you think that having so much luck can turn it into a curse, rather than a blessing?" Creselia wondered, tilting her head. "After all, when there is good luck, there is also bad luck. If you constantly have good luck, would bad luck kick in? Or would it lurk in the shadows, growing stronger, until it becomes a great tragedy that will befall that person?"

The Victor followed a long trail of the thought in her stream of consciousness, before she was brought out of her musings and vacant stare by her husband. He ruffled her blonde hair fondly, and she belatedly realized that she was somehow already dressed.

Oh. He must have dressed her whilst she was lost in her thoughts. Again.

He really must stop doing that.

"You really must stop doing that," she told him lightly. Haru Fortuna nee Puzzler gave an amused snort.

"If I didn't, you'd be at least an hour late to every place you have to go to," he pointed out with a chuckle, straightening his red tie. Creselia gave a small pout, pulling him towards her by said tie, threading her fingers through his messy hair.

"I don't exactly have many events to attend," she stated, making a small braid on the left side of his head, as was habitual. After she was done, he dipped his head forwards to give her a sweet kiss.

"You'd fall asleep anywhere you go, anyways," he said in a soft, teasing voice. "Honestly, if you hadn't been checked by both Sirona and Red, I'd think that you were narcoleptic."

"It's not narcolepsy if I can control it…Somewhat," she said lightly, a vague smile spreading on her face.

"Somewhat," he deadpanned.

"Yes, somewhat. Dreams can oftentimes be much more interesting than reality…" she stated, feeling her mind slip into the thousands of wonderful possibilities.

Before long, the couple exited the Fortuna house. They both paused politely a few seconds, and their albino neighbor promptly exited his own home.

"Hn," Frost Raider acknowledged the couple, coolly ambling alongside them, hands stuffed in his suit's pockets. His suit was a light, cool grey. Creselia wasn't surprised at all.

Creselia fell into an easy daze as they meandered their way towards the death lottery ceremony, only pulled out by it by a sharp tug on her arm by her fellow Victor.

"You're going to fall," he warned her bluntly, pointedly steering her slowly up the steps of the stage. He hovered next to her once they took their places, somehow both disinterested and protective at the same time.

"I don't think Chartreuse will take well to me ruining the ceremony by falling," she noted benignly, gaze drifting off towards the nervous, nitpicky Capitolite. "So I suppose you'll have to catch me, if I do.'

"I won't have any problems doing so, because I'm just that—" here, Frost lowered the dark sunglasses he perpetually wore, shooting her a look over them "—_cool_."

Ah, here came the puns on his name. Creselia often wondered why Frost was so keen of them, when he himself was as barren as a wasteland.

Just another of his odd quirks. It was one of his tamer ones.

…Someone like her, of all people, thinking of such a thought was rather ironic.

Creselia gave a small, dazed grin, as she kept listing off the quirks of both she and several people she knew. When she zoned back in to the ceremony, it was by a pointed pinch by Frost.

"It's wouldn't be _chill_ of you to not pay attention to our future Tributes," he murmured to her, his deep voice deathly quiet. She shot him a small smile, before her attention drifted back towards the Escort picking a name for the girls.

"Cerium Morgan," The Capitolite enunciated perfectly.

The first thing Creselia noted was the frantic male wail in the crowd of teens. It was quickly followed by the exclamations of two confused girls, and a rough "what the fuck?!" by another teenage boy. The entire reaction was wrapped up by the loud exclamations of an adult couple.

Family and friends of Cerium Morgan, no doubt.

It was surprisingly easy to lock eyes on the girl, if you knew where to look. The obvious indicator was the crowd of girls moving away from the brunette, despite being packed in their pen. There was also the sight of two teen boys shoving their way out of their sections and over to her, and how two girls were clinging onto the shocked Tribute.

The Peacekeepers started to mobilize, but Cerium was speaking frantically to the small group of teens that didn't seem to want to part with her. The Peacekeepers were almost upon them, before the four teens broke apart from the Reaped girl.

Cerium slowly, calmly walked towards the stage, the skirt of her teal dress swaying with every step she took. But Creselia could see the doubt swirling in those grey, innocent eyes, despite the calm facade.

The girl was in her later teen years—16—but she seemed so fragile and innocent…She had obviously lived a sheltered, soft life before this.

Once the girl was firmly on stage, Chartreuse Lefleur spent no more time in dawdling, and strode her way to the next glass bowl. In the most precise manner, she drew a slip, and returned to the microphone.

"Gavin Cox."

"At least she didn't have to deal with hard-to-pronounce names this year," Creselia noted benignly in a whisper to Frost. "She almost had a meltdown last year."

Frost merely gave a grunt, most likely intent on searching for the Reaped male within the crowd. It was hard to tell where exactly he was looking at, behind those shades of his. Not to mention, that he had a different vantage point, being so tall…

Creselia was startled by sudden movement near the back of the pens. A brunette boy that was nearly the height of Frost at a tall 6 or so feet burst from the section of 18 year olds.

Creselia watched, mesmerized, as Gavin Cox tried to make a run for it, obviously in a blind panic.

Gavin all but dove into the crowd of onlookers. It was easy to see his feather-like mop of hair weaving its way through the citizens, especially since he barreled a path through them. The boy was fortunate enough to reach the west edge of the crowd, before the Peacekeepers were upon him.

The next few seconds were rather impressive. Gavin managed to get in quite a few lucky hits on the white-uniformed men. She was sure that he broke a few noses and bruised a few eyes.

But then one Peacekeeper roared his name forcefully, standing right in front of him, and Gavin completely froze. The boy slumped, stance completely going slack, and nervously offered his palms up in surrender.

The man in front of Gavin waved away the others that formed a ring around the duo. The other Peacekeeper's hackles were still raised, but they slowly retreated into their previous positions, tense.

The lone Peacekeeper ended up marching Gavin up to the stage, the teen dragging his feet all the while. The boy lazily ascended the steps, stopping languidly next to the Escort.

His laidback manner was much more different than he was before, and an easy grin was even on his face. He also wore very casual clothes—a light grey shirt with white trim and some…pajama pants?

At least the outfit looked comfortable. The color scheme was rather close to Frost's Reaping attire, but Gavin's was obviously much less stuffy.

"Sorry about that," Gavin said sheepishly into the microphone, scratching the back of his neck. "Er…Muscle reflex?" he said lamely, giving an easy laugh, as if trying to completely disregard the fact that he fought more than a half dozen Peacekeepers single-handedly.

The entire crowd seemed to blink in utter disbelief, in synchronization.

"That seemed a bit too much for a simple muscle reflex!" Chartreuse squawked, her expression strained. The short woman looked ready to go off on a high-strung tangent about how the order and perfection of the Reaping had been ruined.

"What, _that_?" Gavin questioned innocently. "Pshaaaaw, that was nothing!" he exclaimed, giving a playful, dismissive swat of the air. "You should see me when I Panic at the Disco! I'm a total Fall Out Boy—but don't worry, there's never any Blood on the Dancefloor!"

The tall teen then burst into laughter, slapping his knee in mirth. The girl besides him began to giggle, and there were a few amused snorts in the crowd.

"Get it?" Gavin asked between laughter, a wide smile on his face. "Like the band names?"

"…Yes, I got it," the Capitolite admitted, looking like she wished she hadn't, because being amused at the joke would ruin her professionalism.

Gavin beamed, looking very proud of himself. He opened his mouth, looking ready to spew a few more languid jokes, before Chartreuse cut him off by ordering the Tribute to shake hands.

Gavin and Cerium smiled easily at one another, shaking the other's hand in a friendly manner, before the Escort quickly finished the ceremony and shooed them off the stage.

Creselia blankly watched the duo being escorted away by Peacekeepers. Gavin had double the amount, which included the specific Peacekeeper that had escorted him earlier.

"Now that was a _blizzard_ of a Reaping," the man besides her noted, sounding almost impressed.

"Mmmm, I enjoyed it," she agreed. "Chartreuse will be more frantic and nervous, however…"

The two trailed off to silence, both thinking deeply. Surprisingly, it was Frost that broke the silence once more.

"I want the boy," he stated firmly. "He tried to _fly the coop_—" he noted, glancing at her with his intense red eyes when he lowered his sunglasses, "but he's not a total _chicken_."

Creselia couldn't help it—she burst out laughing. "Making puns on a Tribute's name—now that's rare of you!"

The albino simply have a shrug. "He has great potential. Definitely a strong contender. It shouldn't be surprising that I chose him."

An amused smile unfurled on her lips. "I didn't question your reasoning for choosing him, Frost. I simply noted that you're already making puns on his name."

The man gave a grunt, looking pointedly away from Creselia. From how much emotion—or, rather, how **little**—Frost showed on a daily basis, she could tell that he was slightly embarrassed.

"You only want Gavin because he made puns," she stated knowingly. Frost neither confirmed or denied it, crossing his arms in a vaguely nettled manner.

But Creselia knows him better than he gives her credit for. She knows she's right.

She doesn't mind Frost picking his Tribute first. He does so every year, intent on Mentoring the stronger Tribute. The one with the better chances. The one that would need his extensive experience, and guidance.

Personally, she feels that this year, District Five has a strong pair of Tributes. They're simply strong in different ways, is all.

"I'll take Cerium, then," she told him, placating. "I liked how calm she was."

Frost gave 'hn' and a nod of his head. "A bit more thoughtful than the boy, I'll admit."

Creselia gave a small chuckle. If the usually cold Victor could already see the merits of both Tributes, then that meant good things for the future.

* * *

**Gavin Cox, 18, D5**

Gavin felt pretty damn awkward about the whole '_tried to run away, and then punched a lot of Peacekeepers in the face_' thing. That was a bad time for his impulsiveness to kick into overdrive.

It was especially awkward when his best friend's father had to confront him. Mr. Haycock was an intimidating man on regular days, stern and disapproving of his little Lindsey being best friends with a boy and disappearing with Gavin on a regular basis.

But when the man roared in Gavin's face to snap him out of his blind panic, he was even **more** terrifying than in any instance before. Because **damn**, Mr. Haycock did his job well.

"Er…Sorry again, Mr. Haycock," the tall teen mumbled. The man gave him a pointed, stern look.

"I did it for Lindsey's sake," he stated bluntly. "Her best friend getting beaten and detained, after the entire spectacle, would traumatize her needlessly."

"Uh…Right. Thank you for your, um, care of your daughter, sir," the brunette said, not knowing how to exactly answer that discouraging, blunt statement.

Soon enough, Gavin was unceremoniously shoved into a room in the Justice Building. It was fancy as hell. Gavin wondered if the entire building was like this, or if District Five only pimped out the rooms for the goodbyes to make themselves seem richer.

Probably. They had to keep up the illusion that their economy doesn't constantly fluctuate because he keeps winning so much at the casinos, and dispenses the wealth.

Gavin was brought out of his musings by his best friend's loud exclamation of "Hi, Daddy! Thanks for keeping Gavin out of trouble!" outside the room. Lindsey Haycock then burst through the door, barreling over to him.

"Oh my God Gavin what the fuck that was so cool do you even know how many people started bets the second you ran like holy hell," Lindsey babbled. Gavin gave a small laugh.

"Calm down there, Lindsey," he told her, waiting patiently until she did.

The blonde took a few deep breaths, before speaking again. "Well, at least you have about an hour or so per goodbye…"

"Yeah. Ah hour to see my parents would be nice," Gavin noted brightly, an excited smile on his face. His friend, however, bit her lip and looked guilty.

"Um…I don't think they'll be able to come, Gavin…" she said tentatively. Gavin felt both his smile and his hopes fall. "The managers of the power plants, The Dam, and all the other important places, they're really strict…"

"But I just got Reaped to go into the **Hunger Games**!" the brunette wailed, clutching his head. "I've only seen my parents **once** in the entire month! What in the everlasting fuck?!"

The boy felt like crying, when the realization that his parents couldn't come sunk in. He hadn't been too worried when he was Reaped, or when it was time to say goodbye. But his abandonment issues were definitely in full throttle when he learned that his own damn parents couldn't get off work to see their only child before he was shipped off to a death match.

Lindsey was quick to comfort the now emotionally turbulent boy.

Somehow, she soothed him enough that he completely forgot about his parents' absence. Since only she would be visiting, they took advantage of that, and she staid a good three or so hours with him.

"Here," she suddenly said, once her father had told the duo that Gavin would have to leave soon. She shoved a pack of cards into his hands. "You'll probably be able to use these better than me, anyways, Lucky Boy."

Gavin grinned at her, giving her a tight hug in appreciation for the Token. "Thanks, Lindsey. Love you."

"Love you too. Good luck—even if you won't really need it," she told him with a chuckle.

"I still appreciate it all the same," he told her fondly, ruffling her blonde hair. Mr. Haycock then entered the room, gruffly escorting him out of the Justice Building and towards the impressive-looking train.

* * *

**Cerium Morgan, 16, D5**

Cerium's goodbyes had gone well. If '_well'_ constituted '_wept constantly with her family and friends_'.

The goodbyes would have been even better if her sister was there. But Indium couldn't get time off work. The research facilities were very vital and hush-hush, and they were very strict, rarely allowing workers to take days off.

It was also probably the reason why Indium hadn't been able to visit their family in the past few months.

But still, it hurt that her older sister—the person she was closest to—wasn't able to even come visit her. Her younger sister that was going to be shipped off to the **Hunger Games**.

Cerium wept even harder when her loved ones were forcefully dragged from the room. Soon she was escorted out of the building, trying to wipe the constant stream of tears from her eyes.

Cerium's thoughts were scrambled and sluggish. She tried to think of **something** positive of the situation she was thrown in.

"At least I'll get to see what the Capitol's like," she muttered weakly with a sniff.

"That's the spirit!" exclaimed someone next to her, wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders. Cerium blinked, noting that she was standing in front of a large train, her District partner next to her.

She smiled gratefully up at the tall boy. "Thanks. I try to stay positive," she told him, quickly wiping the last of her tears away.

"Hey, me too!" he exclaimed, giving a bright smile down at her and a small shake of her shoulders. "That's good to know. I think we'll get along juuuust fine."

She thought so too. It was easy to see that Gavin was a good person, someone who tried to brighten up situations with his laidback, joking nature.

Maybe with someone like him as her District partner, things won't be so bad…

* * *

**Sirona Minerals, Victor of the 2****nd**** Annual Hunger Games, D6**

Sirona awoke precisely at 5 in the morning, before realizing that today was the Reaping, and the ceremony was held at 11. She then decided to go work at the hospital anyways.

**Technically** no places of operation should be open on Reaping days, but that was a blatant lie. Hospitals and clinics were open 24 hours a day, in case of emergencies. The railroads and stations were always running, no matter the hour, because of their industry. The medical labs were run strictly by the Capitol, so good luck trying to close down the places of operation where the anti-age medications and such were created.

Besides, trying to find sleep after she became conscious would be fruitless. Especially on Reaping day. The guilt would gnaw at her and keep her awake. So it was much better to do something productive.

Sirona ended up working for about an hour or so before her cell phone started to buzz in her pocket. Usually she would ignore it, but right now it was a slow time at the hospital. Not to mention the fact that she didn't exactly have many reasons to **use** her cell phone, barring one: Marcus.

Sitting in a private alcove, Sirona opened her cell phone to see the message displayed on its screen, hoping that Marcus didn't decide to be proactive and do something harmful to himself.

'_It's Reaping day again. I don't…Kill me_.'

Sirona felt her heart clench, and decided to forgo messaging to call him instead.

Marcus, like some other of their fellow Victors, was very unstable during Reaping day. He never knew how to deal with his despair, barring himself in his home. He shut out as many people as he could, and the critical Riyo and uncaring Eshana weren't exactly helpful for his emotional burden.

Besides, she and Marcus had been inseparable since the day she became a guilt-ridden Victor. Despite the physical distance, they were there for another through just about everything. It was in the job description of being his inseparable-companion-slash-platonic-soul-mate to help him during one of his suicidal moments.

"Marcus?" she called into the speaker. "How early in the morning is it, in Two?"

Sounds of shuffling, before, "5 a.m."

"So you'll only have to wait 4 hours before the entire thing is over and done with," she tried to reason with him soothingly. "Just 4 hours. Remember, you don't have to go back. 4 hours, and you can lie on your couch and watch a movie. What movie would you want to watch?"

Deflection and distraction, a good tactic to try and get his mind on less darker subjects. Ever since he could, Marcus has been shutting himself away from his problems, so the thought of doing so would appeal to him.

"I don't know…" he muttered listlessly, sounding like he honestly didn't want to move or think whatsoever. A bad sign.

"Why don't you go see your collection of films, then?" she suggested, hoping that he'll at least move across his room to do so. "Maybe you'll find that perfect movie for later."

"Alright, fine…" he muttered. There came the sounds of creaking and shuffling, and a small grunt. "_Titanic_?"

"Marcus, that movie has beautiful music, but it's not the liveliest," she chided him softly. "Find one that's less dramatic."

"But it stars Leonardo DiCaprio," he argued, his voice sounding much less defeated and hopeless.

"Marcus, it makes both of us weep whenever we watch it," she stated blithely.

After a small debate on movies, Sirona managed to coax Marcus into getting ready. "After you get dressed, you can message me however much you need, alright? Just **please** don't plan on staying shut in your room and doing something stupid."

What followed was a long stream of messages, in which Sirona had to constantly convince Marcus that no, hurting himself won't get him out of attending the Reaping, lying listlessly won't keep him from getting dragged out of his home, and of course it was worth living.

That last point was always the one he debated heavily about, but she always managed to convince him to hold on a few more minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years.

After a few minutes of periodically checking her phone and helping organize the hospital, Marcus finally messaged her that he was making his way towards the Reaping.

'_You should hear how much Riyo's nagging us on how we habitually arrive five minutes before it starts_.'

'_It's better to be punctual_' she messaged back.

'_For what? I could recite every single speech and word ever uttered during the ceremony in my sleep. I know it by heart. Why can't I simply show up whenever the names get pulled?_'

Sirona paused. He was right. Most Victors could perfectly remember the speeches and Treaty of Treason after a few years.

'_It's unprofessional_?' she responded.

'_Now you're starting to sound like Riyo. Ha_.'

The stream of messages came nonstop from Marcus. Obviously, he was agitated by the ceremony, and simply wanted to take his mind off of it.

'_They're pulling the names right now…_ _Oh my God, Riyo's going to blow a fuse._'

'_What's going on?_' she messaged back, curious.

'_That was actually hilarious. Be sure to pay attention to D2's Reaping_' he responded a few minutes later.

'_What? What's so funny?_' she responded.

'_Some crazy adrenaline junky Volunteered in place of Riyo's chosen girl from the Academy. That's only half the problem. Look forward to it_,' he responded. Sirona could feel the amused half-smile behind the message.

'_I'm very curious now. Will do._'

The next time Sirona looked at the clock, she noted in a mild panic that the Reaping for Six had started. It seems like the entire staff had forgotten, and thusly she hadn't been warned.

'_D6 Reaping, message u back l8r'_ she tapped quickly on the small keyboard. She sent it, slid the keyboard back into the phone, and quickly rushed to the Square that would hold the ceremony.

Almost every year she was late, usually because she forgot the time and would be doing something else. Since she always came to the Reaping in her white doctor's coat with stethoscope and first aid bag, everyone assumed that she'd been helping out at the hospital. No one really blamed her for it—she had a very noble, taxing, important profession, after all.

Sirona arrived at her place near the end of the promotional video from the Capitol. The Escort—Tessa Trivault—gave her a wide smile of recognition, and waved enthusiastically. Sirona tried giving her a smile in return, but was embarrassed from how the green-haired woman was obliviously bringing more attention to the tardy Victor.

The blue-skinned Capitolite clapped her hands happily once the seal of the Capitol disappeared from the large screens littering the area. "Alllllright! And now, to Reap our Tributes!" she exclaimed peppily, pumping a fist in the air like a cheerleader.

"Ladiiiiiies first!" Tessa exclaimed, before literally bounding over to the glass bowls. She paid no attention to the fact that her short skirt almost flipped up and flashed the crowd.

Really, if the green-haired woman was going to run around with the energy of a teenager to match her looks, she should at the very least wear shorts. Being a hyper airhead on live television isn't safe if you wear short skirts.

The Capitolite woman returned to the microphone. "Calisto Cadbury! Ooooh, like the chocolate brand! Come on up here, honey bunny!"

Sirona gave an amused snort. The poor girl would probably be known as the 'chocolate bunny girl' now.

The lone Victor's eyes managed to find Calisto in the crowd of 16 year old girls. The thunderstruck expression and the fact that her peers were edging away from her made it easy to tell.

Wait, didn't that girl come in just last week to the hospital with a head wound, with two frantic friends…? Huh.

Calisto stood shocked for a few more moments, before she tries to play off the entire situation with a laugh. The olive-skinned girl bounds up to the stage, her ponytail of long, brown hair trailing behind her playfully.

The teen's clothing was practical; worn blue jeans and a sleeveless white shirt. She seemed like the type of person that was bursting with energy.

So essentially, the Escort could take a few notes on how to dress by Calisto. It was a miracle that Tessamalia hadn't flashed anyone onstage in the past 4 Reapings, or hadn't stepped and tripped on her shin-length hair.

"Ooooh, I feel like I'm really gonna like you!" The Capitolite noted happily. "Now for the gentlemen!"

The green haired woman grabbed a slip quickly, reading off the name enthusiastically. "Yohan Freesia! Yo, Yohan—come on up, you cool kid!" The woman giggled at her awful puns on the poor boy's name.

There came a dark chuckle, and the boys in the 16 year old male pen were stepping away warily from a chuckling Asian. Who then started to cackle dramatically like a villain in a movie.

The boy suddenly stopped mid-laugh, a look of contemplation on his face, before he stepped calmly towards the stage.

If the laughter and creepy smile weren't weird, there was also the boy's clothing. He wore a large, worn-out leather coat, a wide-rimmed hat, a tattered white shirt, and some dark jeans riddled with holes. He looked the cross between a punk and a suspicious individual who wanted to appear inconspicuous.

As the somewhat tall Asian ascended the stairs, Sirona noted that despite his shabby appearance, Yohan looked hygienic. His black hair was unkept, but seemed clean, his pale skin wasn't smudged with dirt, and despite the wear, his clothing looked cared for.

"Sorry about the evil laughter," he said awkwardly, a shady smile on his face. "I was trying to find out what reaction fit best to the situation. The '_evil mastermind cackle_' is unique, but I feel like it doesn't quite **fit**. I suppose you all find me **batty**, now."

Yohan then started to snicker, for whatever possible reason, before suddenly stopping, looking a bit insecure.

The blue-skinned woman wasn't bothered whatsoever by the oddities of the Asian. "You'll be fun to work with," she laughed. "Okay, Tributes, shake hands!"

Calisto turned to Yohan, sticking out her hand with a wide grin on her face. The boy tentatively held out his own and Calisto took it, pumping his arm enthusiastically. The boy looked away, befuddled, his pale complexion lightly flushing pink.

The two were then escorted away, and Sirona flipped open her phone to message Marcus.

'_My two Tributes seem very…interesting_' she typed. Maybe their oddities can help them. They certainly had potential.

Hopefully, things could finally come together. Hopefully, she could finally save a Tribute, so she won't have to Mentor alone another year.

* * *

**Yohan Freesia, 16, D6**

Yohan stared down at his right hand. The traditional shaking of the Tributes' hands was technically the first time he held hands with a girl who wasn't his sister or Avery.

It was…odd. Oddly nice, actually. He could now see why Kolo was a ladies' man.

Although, it's very likely that Calisto was taken, if the wailing of two boys when she was Reaped was of any indication.

Yohan was jostled out of his musings by a high-pitched wail. His little sister came barreling towards him, his friends Avery and Kolo hot on her heels.

Yohan barely had enough time to open his arms, before his 13 year old sister was hugging him fiercely, wailing hysterically into his coat. He tentatively rubbed her trembling back, still rather unused to the act of comforting her, despite how often she broke into panic attacks.

"Really bad luck for you to get Reaped, comrade," Kolo noted somberly, a serious expression that was out of place on his usually playful face.

Avery had a very worried look on her face. "Do you think this is because you…?" she trailed off, shooting a nervous glance at Kolo.

Realization dawned on him. Avery was wondering if this was over his unscrupulous methods of gaining an income, how he served justice upon the scum of the District. Kolo was still in the dark about Yohan's actions, so Avery obviously couldn't outright talk about Yohan's ambushes.

"Well, it's a possibility that it happened because of what my grandparents did in the War," he noted benignly.

At Lily's screech of horror from his statement, Yohan flinched, quickly adding, "But it's probably just pure chance! No need to worry, little sister. I'll make **sure** you aren't caught in the crossfire."

"Promise?" the girl whimpered, staring up at her older brother with wide, tear-filled brown eyes.

"Upon my honor, and our parents' grave—bless their souls in Heaven," he told the three seriously, dark eyes hard. "No one will **dare** hurt any of you. I **will** come back, as a bringer of justice."

Avery gave a strained smile, gently hugging the Freesia orphans. "I'll take care of Lily while you're gone."

"And I'll help when I can," Kolo added.

"Thank you," he told his two friends sincerely, before turning his attention to the blonde girl. "Avery, if you decide to take up my, ah, old job… Only do so as a last resort," he stated, voice grim. "You know where to find my tools if you need them. Be careful."

His little sister then started to frantically tug on his sleeve. He looked down at her panic-stricken expression. "B-But…"

"**Only** as a last resort. Just keep being a good little girl, like you've been," he told his fretful sister. Lily nodded meekly. She knew what to do; be careful, be quiet, lie about his whereabouts, don't gain any attention. And most importantly—**don't** reveal where he hid the bodies.

Before the 2 hour slot was up, Lily Freesia shoved a wristband into his hands. It held a wood heart she'd carved. "For your Token," she said, voice quavering.

Yohan was unable to properly thank her and give the three one last hug goodbye. Peacekeepers took that moment to burst into the room in a swarm, dragging the trio away, Lily shrieking hysterically.

Yohan leapt to his feet, snarling furiously, and charged at the Peacekeepers. "Get your hands off of her!"

The boy was easily held back by the white uniformed men. His malnourished frame was no match for the hulking adults. He struggled vainly in their iron grips, spitting vile curses.

The last thing he saw was his two friends and sister getting handcuffed, before he was sedated.

* * *

**Calisto Cadbury, 16, D6**

Theodore and Luna Cadbury were the first people to all but break through the door in order to cling to her and cry.

It was heartbreaking. Her mother seemed so strong, having been the main breadwinner and leader of their little family. Her father was always jovial, and so much like Calisto herself, being the biggest influence in her life when she grew up.

They slathered her in encouragement and love, but they were making her restless. Whenever her parents told her to come back, she tried lying for their sakes, but she was a god-awful liar.

So the two left their daughter feeling like this would be the last time they saw her.

Then Calisto's two best-friends-slash-boyfriends burst into the room, hugging her and wailing.

"I told you, bro! I told you she was gonna die!" Gavin Hafen wailed, shoving her head into his chest.

"What the fuck are we even supposed to do without you?!" Eirik Mackery exclaimed, clinging to her other side like a koala, face buried in her stomach.

"Boys. Boys, please," Calisto muttered weakly, feeling her eyes sting, trying to calm the two down enough so they could spend the rest of the hour at least somewhat coherently.

Which was a moot point. The hour was spent with the three of them crying and telling how they loved each other. Lots of hugs and smooches were included.

When she was escorted towards the train, she felt like her soul was being painfully ripped apart. She's never been away from either her family or friends, before. She felt like she couldn't properly function without any of them by her side.

Calisto stepped on the platform of the largest train station in the District. At least a dozen trains were about, of many different colors. Some were sleek and ran on electricity, some blew steam, some held many large carts to tote materials.

Calisto whipped her head around, trying to find her District partner. She felt alarmed when a group of Peacekeepers marched over, the Asian boy carried between them, unconscious.

"What the hell did he do to get knocked out?" she wondered aloud, eyes wide. That was…really interesting, actually. Only those who acted out got sedated.

Maybe he was a bit of a daredevil too?

If he was, that would be pretty cool. Maybe they could team up. It would certainly help fill in the empty space, where one or more of her loved ones would usually be.

She couldn't let that opportunity go to waste.

Calisto nodded to herself. Even if things felt like they were unraveling at the seams, she could still try to make them come together.


	11. D7-D8 Reapings: Keep It Together

**AN**: And people say being an Art Major is easy. Well, you're all dead wrong. The song's Keep It Together by Madonna, bc it's not a recent/popular song

Warnings: cold marriage, implied violence, nightmares, prostitution, homophobia, fangirls, etc…

* * *

D7+D8 Reapings: Keep It Together

"_Keep it together in the family,  
They're a reminder of your history,  
Brothers and sisters, they hold the key,  
To your heart and your soul,  
Don't forget that your family is gold_."

* * *

**Lehvant Gunner (nee Kyudo), Victor of the 12****th**** Annual Hunger Games, D7**

Lehvant awoke slowly, lying perfectly straight on her back, hands clasped on her stomach.

On her other side, more than a person's width of way, lay her slumbering husband. Juniper Gunner. The man who had agreed on a mutually beneficial marriage that held no love.

Nine years of marriage did not form or fester any tender feelings for the man, and neither did he form any for her. They'd rather have a level playing field, a foundation based upon respect.

No one had ever considered Juniper Gunner or Lehvant Kyudo to get married, much less with each other. It was a shock to Seven, when not even a week after her return from her Victory, Lehvant married Juniper. And then threw a large wedding afterwards, inviting the entire District, feeding everyone.

Lehvant gave a small smile, still feeling satisfied on having outmaneuvered Tenebris Monochrome. The bastard could never get his claws into her, after she managed to not only tie herself down, but became the highest power in District Seven—the Mayor.

**Never** underestimate the force of a determined hard worker.

The Asian woman sat up, quickly slinking out of her bed and towards the desk in the room, which held piles of paperwork. After three hours of working, she heard Juniper stir.

"It's the Reaping today, Lehvant," he muttered, voice still thick with sleep. "You shouldn't be working."

Lehvant stood and faced him, a faint smirk on her lips. "You're only saying that, because you enjoy it when you can be Mayor during the time I have to fulfill my Victor duties."

The man gave a small hum. "Perhaps," he stated. "However, you'll simply overwork yourself before you have to leave."

"I can handle some last-minute forms," she deadpanned. "Besides, it's **you** who has to organize the actual Reaping…" she said, giving a smug grin, "and we both know how tedious that is."

Juniper huffed. "You just reminded me—I have to order the setup of the Square for the next few hours…" he noted with a groan, passing a hand through his dark hair.

The Asian headed to her closet. "I've decided to have breakfast. Are you coming?"

"Yes, yes—I might as well," the man sighed, getting up to pick his suit for the day.

Breakfast was a quiet, polite affair. The one to do most of the chatting was one of their maids, who had made them their breakfast. Soon Juniper left, going over to the nearby Justice Building to start ordering the setup of the ceremony.

That was a perk of being Mayor—you gained a home next to your workplace. Perhaps others would baulk, but she always appreciated it.

Red was similar. He moved into a home next to his clinic a year or two after his Victory. Why, he would have permanently made his home in Victor's Village his clinic, but it was too far-off from the main traffic of accidents.

So Red had decided to simply cut down the time, and all but lived at his clinic. Which was not healthy. And also a bit hypocritical of him, since he always chided Lehvant for overworking herself and never taking enough breaks from work.

After a few short hours of signing forms, Lehvant decided that it was about time to call Red to remind him of the Reaping.

"This is Red Cymn speaking," came the rushed reply.

"Red, it's almost 1 in the afternoon. I expect you to be at the Reaping **on time**," she stressed into the receiver, lips pursed.

"Oh, is it really that time already…?" the man answered vaguely.

Lehvant sighed. She knew that tone Red had in his voice. It was the one he always had, whenever he felt like he couldn't stop healing people.

"**Red**," she pressed, "Your patients can wait. Let your apprentices do the work until you come back from Mentoring."

There came some more shuffling and muttering on the other end, and Lehvant swore that Red had placed the phone on the crook of his shoulder. "I can't just **stop** in the middle of a surgery, Lehvant."

She pinched the bridge of her nose, giving an annoyed hiss. Leave it to Red to jump headfirst into healing someone, without thinking of anything else. You wouldn't even need to ask him to do something; if you were hurt, he would do anything in his power to help you.

"Red Cymn, what were you **thinking** when you decided to perform a surgery on a patient during midday of the Reaping?" she asked him through grit teeth, forcing her voice to stay deadly calm.

"_My patient won't last the next two hours, if I don't perform this vital surgery_, is what I was thinking," Red responded firmly. "I **promise** you that I'll find a point to pass it over to one of my apprentices so I can arrive on time at the Reaping, Lehvant."

"…I'll hold you to that, then," the Asian eventually stated with a small sigh, before hanging up the phone and exiting her home.

The Reaping ceremony was all but on her front step. Lehvant merely had to walk diagonally to reach the stage. She took the stage, noting that her husband was at the podium, looking over his speech. They gave each other a nod of acknowledgement as she sat in the Victors' section.

The Escort—Nolan Fausters—quickly stepped over to her with a wide smile, and she gave him a small one in return.

The dark-skinned man has been Escorting her District for 9 years, since her first year as Victor. Lehvant and Red could admit that they were fond of him. The fact that he wore earth tones and plaid, held dark red hair, and seemed overall down to earth helped make him fit right in.

Lehvant took in the filling Square, eyes critically roving over the pens. She became irritated as time passed, and she couldn't find Red's distinct figure in the crowd.

A minute before the ceremony was to begin, her fellow Victor finally strode towards the stage, somehow looking both rushed and his usual calm manner. She gave him a pointed look when he took his seat next to her, and he gave a somewhat sheepish look.

"Welcome, District Seven," the Escort noted, starting the ceremony. "To the Reaping for the 21st Annual Hunger Games."

Lehvant listened intently to the ceremony, following everything closely. She noted that her husband was doing a fine job filling in for her, with the speech he gave. More speeches and formalities, the Treaty of Treason, a video from the Capitol, and then Nolan was pulling names from the bowls.

"For the girls—Flynn Caltier. Please, step forwards," voiced the dark-skinned man.

Girls in one of the pens started to part, showing a shocked girl with dark hair, who wears an orange summer dress that falls to her knees and brown boots. Lehvant watched as Flynn's face morphed slowly into a strained, yet blank, expression. The teen briskly advances towards the stage, looking like she was trying her best to be as void of emotion as she could muster.

However, as the girl took the stage, Lehvant could see strong emotions in her brown eyes. Anxiety, depression, defiance, **anger**. The girl's fists were clenched so hard, her nails would surely leave dents in her palms.

Flynn was likely intelligent enough to know that any large acts of anger could be seen as those of defiance to the Capitol. She didn't want to paint a target on her back, and would rather stiffly go through the motions.

It reminded Lehvant of her own Reaping, actually. Lehvant had been enraged for being Reaped when she was such a vital worker of the District, but had stiffly, coldly, blankly took the stage.

The woman leant forwards imperceptibly, wondering who would be the male Tribute to go along with the smart girl. If the male was passive, she would take Flynn and pass the boy to Red. If the male was aggressive or loud, she would take him to curb his attitude, and allow Red to take Flynn.

"Theodore Crass. Step forwards," Nolan intoned. Lehvant noted critically that Flynn stiffened, her eyes widening.

A boy with brown hair and blue eyes stepped out of the section that had been next to Flynn's, and he stared in complete and utter horror up at the stage. A flash of colorful beads strung around his neck caught the Asian's attention. She quickly flickered her eyes between Flynn and the boy, connecting the necklaces each wore as being identical.

Friends? Lovers? Either way, being Reaped along with a loved one to the Games **never** ended well. It always ended in tragedy.

As the boy tentatively takes a place next to Flynn, the Escort speaks up once more. "Any Volunteers?"

There is silence and tension, as no one dares shift. Lehvant starts to consider if Theodore is always this reserved, or if terror is masking his usual personality.

Then there came a dramatic, loud yell of "I Volunteer!" from the very back of the Square.

Red, Lehvant, and Nolan blinked in-synch. Well, **this** was rare. Although Seven was one of the outlier Districts that Volunteered the most, it was still rather uncommon.

But no one stepped forwards from the pens, like what was customary. Someone was trying to push their way from the crowd of spectators at the back, to little avail, cursing loudly and colorfully. A small squadron of Peacekeepers stepped forwards, helping part the crowd, firmly leading a youth through the throng. Once a path was clear up to the stage, the dark-haired boy in baggy, bedraggled clothing rushes up to the stage.

"I can still Volunteer, right?" he needled, panting as he passed a hand through his incredibly messy black hair, his appearance overall very tired and dirty. "I didn't miss the Reaping or cut-off, or whatever stupid shit there is for Volunteering in this fucking tree-infested waste-hole?"

What vulgar language from such a young-looking boy. He was shorter than Flynn, only standing at 5 feet 4 inches, with a skinny frame prominent in Asian genes. He had a smooth, oval face, marred by a fierce snarl that twisted his frail features.

"Not at all," the Capitolite said, turning towards the brunette boy, who was clutching onto the girl's hand fiercely. "You can leave the stage now, since someone has taken your place, son."

The brunette boy let out a shaky, relieved breath, shooting an apologetic look towards the girl at his side, before breaking contact and descending the steps. Flynn watched him leave, face once more stony, but her eyes a raging storm of emotions.

Nolan turned back towards the small boy, lowering his microphone down towards him. "And your name…?"

The boy rudely yanked the microphone away from Nolan, turning to face the crowd with an ugly sneer. "Don't let my appearance fool you," he spat out. "I'm 18, and I'm ready to take down anyone in my way. And the name's…"

Here, the boy gave a savage smile, baring his teeth, pausing for dramatic effect. "_Animal_. You may have heard of me," he noted smugly as the crowd gasped and cried in outrage.

Lehvant narrowed her eyes dangerously, glaring fiercely at the boy.

"That little _vermin_," she hissed under her breath. **This** boy was the one who vandalized the District, who terrorized and terrified the citizens for the past few weeks? **This** boy was Animal the Vandal, who had evaded the Peacekeepers time and time again, without a trace?

The 'Animal Problem', as she had dubbed in irritation, had been the top of her to-do list as Mayor. For **weeks**, she had pored over reports and plans in order to catch the son of a bitch who had been trashing entire neighborhoods for shits and giggles. She had lost countless hours of sleep, wasted days of productivity, built up pounds of stress.

And now she finally has him within her grasp.

She wanted to wring the smug, arrogant, rude, tiny boy's neck.

No, that was too lenient. She wanted to tie him to a tree, and use him to help keep her archery skills sharp. And then let the carnivores of the forests feast on his carcass, for the birds to peck out his fleshy tongue and eyes.

"Tributes, shake hands," Nolan rushed nervously, noting that at least half of the Peacekeeper force of District Seven were menacingly converging towards the stage—specifically, the boy.

"Be grateful for the handshake, because I'm not giving you an autograph later," the Asian drawled with a feral grin as the teens shook hands, leaning into the girl's personal space. Flynn only stared blankly at him, clearly not amused.

"Your autograph isn't exactly special, since it's been slathered everywhere already," she deadpanned. "And I'd rather keep myself clean, thanks."

Flynn swiftly, pointedly stepped away from the short boy, who was spluttering angrily. Almost instantly, the Peacekeepers barreled forwards, surrounding and detaining the boy.

"We'll keep him put, nice and tight, with triple security, ma'am," a Peacekeeper woman informed Lehvant.

"Good," the Victor nodded curtly, watching the mob of white uniforms closely. In short order, the Square cleared out, everyone muttering amongst themselves.

"At least the 'Animal Problem' has been solved," intoned her husband stiffly as he made his way towards her.

Lehvant nodded grimly, her mouth a thin line. "For now," she groused. She then turned to Red, hissing peevishly, "He's **mine**."

The freckled man nodded quickly, edging away from the furious woman. "Of course. Only **you** could hold him in line," he told her placatingly. "I've no problems with Flynn."

Lehvant huffed, passing a hand in irritation through her long hair. "God help us. This will be one **large** headache, to keep us together..."

* * *

**Tomoki 'Animal' Seshat, 18, D7**

The boy prowled the room in irritation, despite the tense Peacekeepers stationed in the corners.

Half the Peacekeeper force of Seven had dragged him and all but locked him inside this room for the Goodbyes. It was very opulent, but barren of anything that could be vandalized or used as a weapon. At least a dozen Peacekeepers were waiting outside the door.

What fucking use was the goodbyes, then, if he couldn't at least pass the time with something interesting?

No one would come in the half hour given, anyways.

Suddenly, the door opened, and Animal thought he would see a stream of white uniforms enter. But to his bafflement, in stepped a very familiar tall, strong boy from his past.

"Why are you here, Tessen?" Animal snarled, muscles tensed, about ready to pounce on the smug-looking boy. "Want me to gut you like last time?"

Despite the threat and reminder of having stabbed Tessen eleven times in the past, the boy didn't waver in his smug air. Tessen stepped forwards confidently, spitting at the Asian's feet.

"You'll never be the Victor, _Tomoki_," the older boy taunted. "Anyone can beat your weak little ass—you've lost just about every fight you've ever been in. Volunteering will be your death sentence."

Animal snarled, seeing red, and charged. He was easily held back by the strong forms of the Peacekeepers, left flailing and clawing towards his main source of hell at school, like a rabid cat possessed.

"God, you're so **weak**," Tessen noted. Then Animal felt a prick of a needle, and fell unconscious, the taunt ringing in his ears.

* * *

**Flynn Caltier, 16, D7**

Each goodbye session would last a half hour, and she could have only three at maximum. That's what the kind Peacekeeper woman that had escorted her had told Flynn.

That gave her a clear and concise time limit. **Maybe** she could try and stretch the time out to be 45 minutes, if she managed to convince the Peacekeepers that she only needed 2.

But then again, they most likely just wanted her goodbyes over with, so they could deal with that vandal. Animal. The arrogant, unpleasant boy who had Volunteered to take Theodore's place.

Snubbing him hadn't been a good way to show her appreciation for essentially saving one of her best friends. It was in her nature to be blunt to strangers. But she offended him, so now he probably hates her and thinks of her as an enemy. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Being District partners with such a tumultuous boy, on top of him disliking her, wasn't going to be easy.

Hopefully, she can keep her mouth in check and do some damage control later. Animal seemed to enjoy being acknowledged, and rather pointedly wanted others to see him as strong. Maybe if she could get over her hesitance and social ineptitude, she could praise him, butter him up a bit. That could make things more pleasant between them.

Flynn tried her best to enjoy the next half hour with her family. Her parents were hugging and sobbing over her, and her siblings, for once, put their full attention on her.

Actually, her siblings were all but clambering over each other to apologize and give her advice on the Games. Things ranging from how to get out of a stronger Tribute's chokehold, to mollycoddling tidbits like "_don't forget to keep your socks warm!_".

Flynn pointedly didn't want to acknowledge or speak about the fact that **one** of them—Heather—could have Volunteered to save her from a fate of a possibly gruesome death. But if Heather had, Padraig would have been unable to Volunteer after Animal had done so. For the twins, it was all or nothing.

So Flynn pointedly ignored the elephant in the room, because she didn't want to snap. She wanted to enjoy what could possibly be the last time she had with her family, to keep it together. The future held too many unknowns.

After a last round of tearful hugs and "I love you"s , her family left, to be replaced with her three best friends.

Surprisingly enough, Acelynn and Jake lingered back as Theodore ran forwards and brought the girl into a bear hug, weeping and apologizing into her shoulder profusely.

"Theodore, it wasn't your fault," Flynn murmured. "You got lucky for someone to Volunteer for you; I didn't."

"Actually, I think it's better this way," Jake noted in an uncharacteristically quiet, subdued voice.

Ace nodded sagely. "Only one of you goes in. Less to lose."

"How can you **say** that?!" Theodore cried, whirling to stare incredulously at the blonde girl.

"Theodore, it's fine," Flynn interjected quickly, putting a hand on his arm.

"**Fine**?" he repeated, voice strained. "This situation isn't **fine**! It's a bad joke—no, a **nightmare**!"

"But Ace is right. Now it's one less of us going into the Hunger Games. Less to lose. Better odds," the darkhaired girl stated weakly. "I just…Want to spend these last few minutes at least mildly hopeful..."

"We can do that," Jake noted eagerly, despite the glassiness in his eyes. "Like, remember when Ace gave us our necklaces?"

"And how you noted that only me and Flynn could get you to wear jewelry? Yeah, I remember," the blonde girl said, before launching into a retelling of livelier times within the group of friends.

Flynn smiled gratefully. Soon, tears were streaming down her face from laughter instead of sorrow. When their time dried up, the four teens joined together for one last group hug, murmuring, "_We're always connected. We'll never forget_."

As Flynn was escorted to the Train, alone, she grasped at her necklace. She'll be alone from here on out, but she'll at least have the spirit of her loved ones with her.

* * *

**Wolfgang 'Woof' Kendricks, Victor of the 15****th**** Annual Hunger Games, D8**

_Woof shivered, the bitingly cold air cutting his face like glass shards. The cold seeped into his very bones, despite his jacket and protective gear. Despite currently sweating up a storm, running for his dear life, along with his District partner._

_The area was a sea of white. There were sheer cliffs boxing them in from both sides. A beefy boy was straight at their heels. Death, no matter where he looked._

_Then, suddenly, she slipped. Woof turned, horrified. _

_The scene seemed to slow, dragging out painfully long. He watched as Trisha tumbled off the cliff's edge, suspended in mid-air, her red hair billowing around her like a flickering flame. He forced his body to move forwards—slow, too slow!—towards her, arm outstretched, matching her desire for him to catch her._

_"_Woof!_" the redhead screeched, terrified. She was too far away. His fingers grasped thin air. She descended down the sheer cliff—too slow, too fast— and kept tumbling down and down..._

"Woooooof!"

Right when Trisha's body was going to impact at the very bottom, the young man was finally jerked awake. He was disoriented, mind still reeling from reliving one of the worst experiences of his life.

"You were having a really strong nightmare, and I couldn't calm you down," murmured a soothing voice, and a hand passed through his brown hair. Woof relaxed, melting back into his bed.

"Sorry, Kitty," Woof muttered, rubbing at his eyes to rid themselves of both the sleepiness and his tears. "What time is it…?"

"Five a.m. Early enough for me to say, '_go the fuck back to sleep, Woof_'," the tanned young woman noted with an amused chuckle.

"Well, I can't turn down such a supportive statement, now can I?" he joked lightly, loosening the blankets around him, his body's tremors dying down as the warmth of his room seeped back into his bones. He always kept the temperature to almost blazing temperatures, comforted by being able to _stay warm_.

"I'll be here next to you, okay?" Kitty told him, giving him a soft smile as she moved to settle down next to him, dressed in a tank top and shorts to combat the baking temperature.

"…Hug, first, though?" he asked, eyeing her hopefully. Kitty gave the best hugs—probably because she was the eldest sibling of the Mordants, and was well practiced at giving them.

"Sure thing," she acquiesced, wrapping her arms around him.

He sighed against her shoulder, eyes closing, falling into an almost zen-like state. For the next few hours, he slept blissfully. The rest of his chronic nightmares were dissipated by his vigilant fellow Victor, who always soothed him or nudged him half-awake.

The Victor duo properly awoke and left his room somewhere around noon. Kitty yawned, looking quite tired, yet proud and pleased. Woof's nightmares have been lessening ever since Kitty vigilantly stayed in his room to ease the night terrors. Her closeness and kindness has worked much better than the medicines he's been prescribed by Sirona, even if the rooming arrangements were odd and questionable.

Then again, only morons circulated rumors about him and Kitty being anything more than platonic.

Wolf merely saw her as a big sister, than anything. She was an enjoyable, fun, supportive person. He had older siblings himself, that was true, but she's watched over him ever since his name had been Reaped during the 15th Games.

He didn't see her as Kitrina Mordant, play-girl extraordinaire. He didn't see her for her body, like how the Capitol dolled her up and sold her image. She was pretty, yes— but more like a sunrise.

Kitty was just…Kitty. His fellow Victor. His Mentor. His friend. His quasi-sister.

She's got enough pressure from President Monochrome and the Capitol. Has enough of a sexualized image from the nation. She **needs** to have people who see her as she truly is, people that can **support** her. A place where she can be herself, without any pressure to become a stereotypical hussy.

And he'd like to think that he's doing that. That he's giving her a supportive best friend, someone who knows of her troubles and fate, someone who's also got blood on their hands and darkness in their hearts.

He honestly wishes he could do more for her. Wishes he could stop her 'appointments', like how she can stop his nightmares. But there's only so much he could do...

It's like jokes. The best ones are those that are allowed to build strength, the ones that are memorable and long lasting. The quick zingers are still great, but they're quickly forgotten, and only work for a little while.

So he'd rather be a long-lasting joke than a quick zinger, in the scheme of things, if that made sense.

"Are you thinking of a good joke?" asked Woof's little sister curiously, stirring him from his thoughts.

Woof blinked, noting that both families were gathered in his dining room for brunch, all 12 of them. This was a common occurrence, and yet he still marveled at how **large** the table was… In Eight, most of the populace lived in apartment complexes, and those apartments are very _space-efficient_.

"I was thinking more on the different **types** of jokes," Woof noted distractedly, shoveling hash potatoes into his mouth.

"Don't think too hard, son, or you'll strain yourself," his dad noted benignly.

"Hmmm, no **wonder** I smelled something burning," Kitty teased, smiling playfully at him from across the table.

"Oh? I guess I wasn't the only one that could smell the burnt toast either, then," Woof noted chipperly, avoiding a swat from his annoyed older sister, who huffed but joined along with the good-natured laughter at the table.

Soon enough, the Victors and their families left for the Reaping at 2. It saddened Woof that the moment Kitty stepped outside, she had to put on her sultry persona. But he kept up a long string of commentary and jokes to get both his mind, and Kitty's, off the awful implications.

The grimy, narrow streets were already packed full of people. The Peacekeepers had tacked up gleaming streamers and banners to liven up the dull, smoggy area, like they did annually.

Kitty strut up to the stage with swaying hips, throwing out winks and kisses, and Woof followed her leisurely. The Escort, Meticulus Leuhrman, rushed over to them when they rose, beaming.

Once more, the man was wearing a dress. It was short, and he combined it with a pair of matching sunglasses and boots. Woof learned since three years ago to never question Meticulus' choice of appearance, or else the poor man would get defensive and emotional.

Meticulus just **really** liked feeling pretty. No shame in that. Odd, but not shameful.

The flamboyant man was much better than past Escorts, at any rate. He didn't drool over Kitty, or take advantage of her. Meticulus was also very friendly, so Woof enjoyed his company.

After gushing over the duo, the Escort flounced over to the microphone, and the two settled themselves for the ceremony. To keep from getting bored, Woof whispered jokes to Kitty, or commentated on odd sights in the crowd. Finally, Meticulus dramatically announced that he was going to reap the names.

"Ladies first!" the Capitolite chirped, picking a slip, then dropping it into the bowl to pick another. After rummaging through at least five slips, he finally stopped on one.

"Oh my gosh, this name sounds Asian! Asians are so fun, and they just give a little spice, you know? Better than having a full roster of white kids—that's not fair at all! Other races should get an equal chance at the crown," the man babbled, a kind grin on his face.

At least Meticulus advocated for equality. But Woof has a feeling that the girl the man picked—and all other minorities that have been lucky because of statistics—would not be pleased.

"Madras Ling! Come on up here, sweetie!" the Capitolite called.

It wasn't hard to figure who Madras was. The poor girl burst into noisy tears the second her name was called.

The 18 year old girl pen split like a wave, most of the girls looking uncomfortable at the bawling Asian in a once-white dress. Two girls who wore provocative, dirty dresses crooned in the girl's ear sympathetically, rubbing at her arms to comfort her as their peers threw them disgusted looks.

Oh. _Oh_.

Madras was a prostitute.

Well, shit.

That explained the thin yet curvy figures, the low-cut dresses, and the attractiveness of the girls. And the hopeless air that loomed above the short girl like a dark cloud, the subdued personality, the mature and haunted eyes…

Woof knew of the signs from Kitty. She always bounced back, but that certain look in Madras' dark eyes would mirror Kitty's, whenever she had a particularly rough and tiring time in the Capitol.

Next to him, Kitty tensed, eyes wide and intent on the stricken girl. She gripped his arm, and at that moment, he knew—that his guesses were right, that Kitty would Mentor her, that this girl was going to go through **so** much more suffering in the future.

Madras gave a shriek, batting her fellow coworker's hands away from her, and stumbling forwards. She wobbled precariously, before collapsing on the dirty cobblestone, full out bawling.

The air was heavy and awkward. Eventually, when it seemed apparent that the girl would be unable to pull herself together and get on her feet, two female Peacekeepers tentatively went to her side.

Madras ended up getting carried onto the stage. In the arms of the Peacekeepers, she looked much younger than her actual age. Her short height didn't help matters.

She sniffed, standing next to the Escort on shaking legs. The man pat her on the head like one would do a pathetic stray puppy.

"Alright, now for the boys!" the Capitolite said, seemingly trying to liven the situation. This time he merely changed his mind on the slip once, before promptly announcing it into the microphone. "Jonah Abagnale, you're up!"

If Woof thought things were awkward enough, what happened next blew away his expectations.

All at once, the female pens burst out into gasps and cries, and the male pens for those fourteen and older burst into rambunctious cheers. At the heart of it all, the fifteen year old male pen parted from a surprisingly pretty brunette boy in a red plaid shirt, as if he was the plague itself. Jonah's peers jeered at him, hooting and hollering.

Who would cheer and mock someone when they're Reaped? That's just **despicable**.

Jonah looked around himself in shock. Then the boy charged forwards in a frenzy, bowling over his peers like a rampaging bull, with a frustrated snarl. He managed to make it two pens over, before the Peacekeepers surrounded him.

Then came the brawl. Jonah managed to deck two Peacekeepers in the face, swiftly flipped another over his shoulder, and roundhouse kicked a fourth in the face. Then he head butted one in the face that had tried to grapple him from behind, elbowed two others in the gut and groin, slithered out of another headlock, and smashed two Peacekeepers' heads together, before he was finally dog piled.

Holy hell, that was impressive for a fifteen year old who looked like a tall, pretty girl sporting a boy's haircut.

A small squadron of Peacekeepers dragging Jonah up to the stage, as he cursed them out loudly and colorfully in his clear, high voice. Three full pens of girls were either crying, yelling reassurances at Jonah, or announcing their profound love and admiration for him.

The entire time, until Jonah was plopped up on the stage next to Madras, a large group of boys were laughing and hurling insults at him.

"Nice try, fag!"

"Now we'll never have to see you stupid face here again!"

"Good fucking riddance!"

"You're finally going to Hell, where you belong, faggot!"

Meticulus looked personally offended at the insults hurled at the boy, face going red in rage. He opened his mouth to speak into the microphone, but Jonah evidently beat him to it, yanking it from its stand.

"Shut the **fuck** up, you assholes!" the brunette roared, spit flying. "If **anyone's** going to Hell, you bet your asses that it'll be **you **morons! Throwing insults and death threats at someone that's getting shipped off to the Hunger Games—that's a new fucking low!"

The Square went oddly silent, as Jonah kept on ranting.

"Being gay shouldn't even be a problem! My dads are amazing people, damn it! They're kind, considerate, helpful, and have to put up with all this complete and utter **shit**. They take care of me and my brother, working themselves to the **bone** just like **any** one of you to provide for their family!" he crowed, jabbing an accusing finger out at the crowd.

"There isn't a huge age gap, they aren't related, they don't do any bad things or break the law—they've never done **anything** wrong. They're good fucking people! If **anyone's** parents should be questionable, it's those that raised the complete **assholes** that are cheering, crying for my blood, for something as petty as who my parents are!"

"So Fuck. **You**." And then Jonah dropped the microphone onto the stage, the clattering sound deafening, echoing across the silent Square. The boy glared furiously and accusingly at the entire District at large, before stepping back and crossing his well-built arms across his chest.

Woof gave a large smile, slowly clapping at Jonah's speech. Kitty and Meticulus quickly joined in, as well as Jonah's family. After a few seconds, at least 70 or so people were clapping across the shocked-silent Square.

Already, Woof felt like he would enjoy Mentoring Jonah.

* * *

**Jonah Abagnale, 15, D8**

The brunette was thrown gruffly into the out-of-the-way room in the Justice Building for his Goodbyes.

The Peacekeepers definitely weren't pleased with his actions in the Reapings, but Jonah didn't really give a fuck. He wouldn't have to deal with them once he stepped onto the Train, and when he won, they'll have to respect him.

When, not if. Jonah had a pretty damn good record when it came to fights. He was strong and quick-witted; fighting off those Peacekeepers showed that.

So hopefully that, along with his looks, will get him a good amount of Sponsors. He was probably a little on the younger side of the spectrum, but his skill more than made up for it.

And even though it still baffled him, he already had a **huge** amount of admirers and fangirls here in Eight. So he could **theoretically** do well with charming the flighty Capitol girls… Until he probably offended them, since he's always been unwilling to lie.

Eh. He'll think of that when he gets there.

At least his District partner isn't an annoying fangirl. That would be creepy. And unpleasant.

Madras seemed nice enough, even if she was super emotional. Then again, she just got Reaped for a match to the death, and didn't seem like a fighter. Any other teen would be terrified, like her.

Jonah stared down at his brown work boots in thought. But soon paled and grimaced, hearing the ungodly cacophony of sound nearing his door. He jumped up, rushing over to the door, and hoped the Peacekeepers would help him just his once.

"Don't let my fangirls in here!" he exclaimed, waiting tensely. A few seconds passed, and Jonah warily peeked his head out of the door.

The hallway was overflowing with teenage girls. Jonah caught sight of his dads and brother slowly wading their way up to the front, as well as Feather's distinctive cinnamon-colored skin amongst the sea of white.

"Excuse me, I'd only like four people to come to my goodbyes," Jonah spoke in an undertone to a Peacekeeper woman that was stationed next to the door. "My fathers, brother, and Feather—the dark-skinned girl following them. Can I take the four of them in one, hour-long session?"

The woman frowned thoughtfully, before slowly nodding. "I suppose. You'd be mobbed by girls if we were to let them through."

"Thanks," Jonah said, quickly ducking back into the room as girls threw love confessions at him.

Five minutes later, and Jonah was finally sitting down on the couch with his dads, brother, and best friend.

Jonah's birth father—Rion Abagnale—was in hysterics. The honey-blonde haired man latched himself onto his son, begging his son to be careful, to win, to come back to them.

Jonah's adopted father, Shane, was almost calm in comparison to Rion. He was stony, barely saying a word—but the expression on his face was strained, and he held Jonah tightly.

After his dads stopped hogging him, Feather and Asher finally got to step forwards. Feather quickly pulled him into a hug.

"Thanks, Jonah, for being such a great friend. You're like a brother to me, you know that?" the dark-haired girl murmured.

Jonah felt a pang in his heart—Feather's been his best and only friend for years, and his neighbor for longer. She always stuck by him, no matter the shit he got into. Jonah's never exactly had a female role model in his life, but Feather was like an older sister to him, essentially acting as a mother figure in his tumultuous life.

"Your friendship means the world to me," he told her honestly, before looking over to his oddly silent little brother. "Asher…?" he noted, alarmed, at the sandy-haired boy suddenly collapsing too his knees, head bowed.

"I could've Volunteered for you," the younger boy whispered shakily. "**You** wouldn't even think twice to do that for **me**, if I'd been Reaped. But I was a coward…I kept thinking and thinking over my chances, the statistics, and _I just couldn't do it_!"

His dads started to exclaim in shock, but Jonah simply kneeled down, hugging the bespectacled boy. "You're my little brother, Asher. I wouldn't want you to put yourself at risk because of me. I'll come back."

He had to keep it together, to win, for his family. He didn't care about his District, but his family was precious to him. He's got a good shot, and he's going to use it.

* * *

**Madras Ling, 18, D8**

The second her little brother had stepped inside the room, Madras hugged him. She held him, wishing she could never let go, and wept unabashedly on his scrawny shoulder.

The entire time, Madras simply hugged Cotton, telling him how much she loved him over and over again. He cried so much that he had to take off his glasses in fear of ruining them, clinging onto her like the day when they were orphaned.

She knew this would be the last time she'd be able to hold her dear Cotton. She could never win the Hunger Games, with how weak and pacifistic she was. Cotton would have to fend for himself, find a job, so he could survive from here on out without her to support him.

"M-Madras, maybe I can get your old job... Being a guard can't be too hard, can it?" he murmured into her tear-stained, once-white dress. Her pale complexion turned ashen, and she felt winded.

No. He should **never** know. She'd hid her problems and prostitution well enough before, and she'll be **damned** if she worried him and crushed his hopes by telling him, just when she was to leave him.

She'll take it to the **grave**.

"D-Don't try and find my old job, Cotton. It'll be long gone," she whispered. "J-Just…**Please**, take care of yourself. Find a way t-to survive and keep learning. You've got s-so much promise…"

Madras wept hysterically as the frail fourteen year old was ripped from her arms. She didn't stop crying, even when she was dragged onto the Train. Even when her District partner noted that she looked like shit, and asked her if she needed some type of comfort. Even when she met face-to-face with the Victors, and was enveloped in a strong, warm hug by Victor Kitrina.

It was just so hard to keep it together… She had only been able to survive this past horrifying year because of her brother, her soul strong because of her firm goal. But winning the Hunger Games was **completely** different from hiding her problems from Cotton.

Cotton will end up in history as someone great in the District, and she'll simply be known as another corpse.


	12. D9-D10 Reapings: Wind

**AN**: Hey guys, I'm back on-schedule! Also, Lost is the longest story I've written length-wise, and has the most reviews, so thanks! I love you all :D

Thanks for 17headlines and our PM convos for the whole 'pat pat' thing I ended up using for Liseli. Also, I find the difference between Niveus and Taz to be jarring, but much needed and appreciated.

The song I used (since I am a nerd extraordinaire) is Wind by Akeboshi. Best Enrish song ever.

Warnings: alcoholism, drunken anger, mentions of serial killers, throttling, enraged screaming, mentions of suicide, scars, mentions of physical abuse, and probably a slew of other things.

* * *

D9-D10 Reapings: Wind

"_Waiting is wasting, for people like me.  
Don't try to live so wise,  
Don't cry, 'cause you're so right,  
Don't dry with fakes or fears,  
'Cause you will hate yourself in the end._"

* * *

**Niveus Blackburn, Victor of the 10****th**** Annual Hunger Games, D9**

Reaping day was the day Niveus Blackburn drank the most.

Each year simply showed that he was so vile, so **tainted**, that he was incapable of saving **anyone**.

For the atrocities he's committed, this is his punishment. To keep staining his hands in blood. To bear the burden, to always be alone, to keep breaking down year after year…

He'll feel a flare of hope each time one of his Tributes gets close to the crown. And each time, it is smothered violently…

Niveus became a heavy drinker after his Victory. Quarantined himself in his home, shut everyone out, and drowned his sorrows in alcohol. So he was usually semi-drunk as he trudged through his dreary home. But when it neared the Reaping, he all but drank himself comatose.

He was vile, and the whole nation hated him. He could go into a coma, and no one would care.

It'd probably be for the best. He'd probably kill someone messily and gruesomely no matter his sobriety anyways, because he was a monster. **The** monster that ended up winning the 10th Annual Hunger Games, like a horror film gone wrong.

A warm hand rubbed his shoulders, and he twitched. The grip on his bottle tightened, his fist shaking in both drunken irritation and paranoia.

He forgot about Mié.

She was always there to help comfort him, no matter the danger he posed to her. He kept telling her time and time again to leave him, never near him, or else he'd hurt her.

He would never forgive himself is he hurt her. She was one of the kindest people imaginable.

And also one of the few that didn't abandon or despise him.

"Mié, **stop**," Niveus rasped out, passing one of his skeletal hands through his greasy, dark hair. "Leave."

She was pure. He never understood what she saw in him. He never understood why she stuck by him, tolerated him, **helped** him.

But she did. She even got him to marry her through legal documents from the Justice Building, one time when he was incredibly drunk and incredibly idiotic.

So technically, she couldn't even leave, like he wanted her to do. She was stuck with him. For whatever reason, she bound herself to him, despite having a **great** life before she decided to start spending time with him.

"Niveus, you can get through this," the brunette woman said softly, clasping her pudgy hand over his and slowly easing the bottle out of his clammy grip.

"I can't," he muttered, lips pulling back into a self-loathing sneer. "I **need** to get drunk."

Somehow, the portly woman managed to leave the couch the Victor had been sprawled across, before he could grapple for the bottle. Probably because she did this so often.

"Eiren will be here soon," she told him, trying to soothe him despite his drunken, irrational behavior. "He's a professional, and you actually **listen** to him."

"I lishen 'cuz he's the Escort," he groaned tiredly, falling back onto a sad heap on the couch. "Mié, **please**, lemme get pissed-full drunk, an' leave me here."

He knew he sounded like an odd combination of pitiful pleading, drunken fury, and deep depression. But he just wanted to numb himself. He wanted to put off the inevitable; both for the Reaping, and for getting attached to the Tributes.

Niveus watched his wife—**wife**, by God, he would never get used to it—slowly edge out of the room. Most likely to dump away the alcohol.

That was good rum, too.

Niveus threw himself sloppily off his couch, lumbering shakily towards the kitchen. Maybe he'd find some wine somewhere.

But he couldn't get there. Mié was standing in the doorway firmly, her large figure leaving no room to bypass her. Her arms were crossed across her large bosom, an oddly determined look on her usually soft face.

How did she get here so quickly…?

"Outta the way," he rasped, wobbling on his long legs. "Wine. I need wine."

"Niveus, Eiren will be here soon. Just sit down," the woman stated, looking very worried.

"I don' wanna hurt you. Just lemme…" he said vaguely, stumbling around, trying to bypass her to no avail.

"Niveus, **no**," she said, horrified, arms trying to push him back.

"Niveus, **yes**," he slurred in a growl, clawing at the doorway, as the woman hugged him, trying to keep him in place.

Before the Victor could do something he regretted in drunken anger, the doorbell rang.

Niveus groaned pitifully, holding his head in his hands. He slumped heavily against his wife in defeat, like a limp noodle. The short woman shouldered his weight, slowly dragging his sorry drunken ass back towards the couch.

Just as Niveus collapsed onto the couch, there came an old, weary sigh. Niveus looked up guiltily at the stout, white-haired man that neared him.

"Thank goodness you're here, Eiren," Mié sighed in relief. "Please, help my husband get sobered up."

"Of course, of course. We can't have him getting sick or collapsing on stage. Very unhealthy," Eiren Argone intoned, rifling in his small suitcase. "Ah, here's the medicine."

The Capitolite managed to coax the Victor into drinking the vile anti-intoxication medicine. Niveus gave a long sigh, feeling the effects of his earlier alcohol binge slowly leave him, gaining a clearer mind and motor skills.

"The medicine still tastes awful," he muttered under his breath, as the Capitolite heaved him on his feet.

"This would be much easier a process if you simple listened to your wife and I, and stopped drinking for the Reaping," the tanned man noted. "You need to focus yourself on **something**, and cannot be drunk during that time."

"I s'pose," Niveus muttered listlessly as he was dragged and dropped into his room. Mié hovered uncertainly, but he waved her off. "I can change by myself jus' fine."

Tiredly dragging himself to his closet, Niveus threw off his stained and rumpled clothing, putting on a black collared shirt and black slacks.

Even before his Victory, he primarily wore dark colors. Might as well fit the color scheme of a funeral for the occasion.

Because that's what the Reaping was. A funeral, for his future Tributes.

Niveus exited, roughly passing a hand through his lank, messy hair.

Eiren gave an acquiescing sigh. "I suppose that's the most presentable I can hope, from you," the old man noted, straightening his diamond cufflinks with a twitch. "Next year, I hope you work yourself up to a proper button-up shirt."

The Victor gave a vague grunt, and was slowly led out of his dreary home towards his doom.

Although, they must look ridiculous, like this. Niveus was 6 feet 2 inches, and both Eiren and Mié were very short. He held that general 'murderer' look, and the other two looked harmless.

If he was in any shape to laugh, he would do so.

Each person they passed seemed to either glare at them, or become wary, or both. Soon enough, Niveus was drudging up the steps of the stage, collapsing onto the lone chair for the Victors Section.

The speeches went in one ear, and out the other, as the pale Victor stared at his hands. He wished he didn't have to be here, to feel the searing glares of hatred from the District citizens.

This was the **exact** reason why he wanted to be drunk for the ceremony.

"Now, for the Reaping proper. Ladies first," the Capitolite intoned calmly, walking slowly to the glass bowl and plucking out a slip of paper. Niveus felt his stomach churn, and the vague feeling that he was going to get sick, from nerves.

"Liseli Avere, please step forwards," Eiren stated.

Niveus brought up his head slowly, staring dully at the crowd. The 18 year old female section parts around a girl dressed in dull, sensible clothing, her hair an oddly pleasing blonde-red mixture.

Liseli's eyes are wide, visibly shocked. A few seconds pass without movement, and then she suddenly steps forwards, her face relaxed.

The girl walks up to the stage slowly, robotically, limbs stiff. She ends up next to the old man, face calm and blank. However, she's shaking slightly, and her eyes are fearful.

Terrified, but she wants to keep herself together. It's admirable, but how long can she keep it up, before her flame and resolve are snuffed out?

The pessimistic, dreary part of him believes that it won't be long at all, until she dies. They always die.

The small spark of hope within him believes that she has potential, a fire within her that matches the sunset shades of her hair. Perhaps she can break the curse; perhaps **she'll** survive.

Eiren's already drawn the boy's name, before Niveus pays attention again. "Azrael Rachaye, please step forwards."

The crowd parts almost instantly from a boy who wears a long-sleeved white shirt and worn pants, as if he was tainted. Azrael lowers his head from the scrutiny, as whispers break out instantly.

Rachaye?

This must be Cassis Rachaye's kid; looks exactly like him, too.

Niveus remembers Cassis Rachaye. He was a serial killer that targeted women, during—or perhaps it was after?—his Victory.

They couldn't catch Niveus for his own crimes of killing the rich to help dispense the wealth to the orphanages, since he was a Victor—no matter **how** despised. So the Peacekeepers had fueled all their attention to the **other** murderer, and managed to catch him.

Azrael looked like he had to shake himself out of his reverie, quickly skittering forwards once he caught wind of the Peacekeepers looming towards him. The closer he got to the stage, the louder the crowd got.

As Azrael took the stage, there came relieved cheers and applause. The boy ducked his head further.

Niveus' hands clenched. To cheer for a child being sent to death, no matter their history…It was awful. **Vile**.

The boy was evidently despised by the District, simply for his father's status of murderer. Azrael himself most likely did **nothing** to these people, and yet he's still treated with disgust.

It made Niveus enraged. This boy wasn't a monster, like **he** was. He didn't deserve this.

For once, the Victor felt like **doing** something.

The man lurched out of his chair, face an ugly sneer, and stalked towards the microphone. The two Tributes stepped away, wide-eyed and terrified.

"Give me the mic," he ordered hoarsely. Eiren looked baffled, as he handed over the devise to the Victor.

"This boy has done **nothing** to deserve your hatred," he rasped into the microphone, his knuckles white. "His father **may** be a criminal, but that shouldn't automatically make Azrael one too."

"You know who's a murderer—a **true** monster, that you should despise?" he questioned, giving a sharp bark of loony laughter. "**Me**. **I'm** the real deal— the **real** person you should hate, not some **kid**."

"Niveus, that's **enough**," Eiren hissed, giving the Victor a sharp look that said '_we'll talk about this later'_, and taking the devise away.

The Victor gave one last angry leer at the crowd, before slinking back towards his chair.

The boy tapped the Escort shyly on the shoulder, mumbling that he wanted to say something. Warily, the old man passed the microphone to the brunette.

Azrael gave a cringe as he looked out at the crowd, plastering on a fake, pained smile. "Maybe this is a sign. To continue my father's legacy," he noted, giving a snort. "You probably should have treated me better, you know—because if I win, things **won't** be pleasant."

Giving a sarcastic salute, he returned the microphone back to the Escort, before rubbing his arms and shying back once more.

Eiren was definitely not pleased, but went on with the rest of the Reaping in a calm, practiced manner.

As the two Tributes shook hands, they shared a long look, and the girl clapped the boy's shoulder. Niveus felt like they at least knew each other, since Liseli didn't seem to despise Azrael, like the rest of Nine.

The two could make good District partners. Their similar Reaping outfits—white shirt, medium-grey bottoms, black shoes—already gave off the image of them being teammates.

As the Peacekeepers escorted the teens away—Azrael getting double security, of course—the lone Victor held hope.

He knew he shouldn't get attached, but he already felt a strong connection with the boy, and the girl looked like she would work well with the both of them.

He gave a wince, however, as Eiren stood in front of him, looking like he wanted a thorough explanation. Although Eiren's status of being a retired psychiatrist was usually helpful, Niveus knew that this time, it would only cause him trouble.

* * *

**Azrael Rachaye, 17, D9**

Azrael was marched towards the Justice Building, and he had to fight down the bubbling panic.

He remembered when his family got dragged in and questioned, all those years ago. It was **awful**.

He's also mildly regretting his obscene comments. He should've just let Niveus take the heat. But after that frenzy, he'd felt a large connection with the Victor, and just… couldn't let him do it.

Also, the biggest problem: he was going into the Hunger Games. With Liseli. A girl that didn't deserve this.

A part of Azrael was genuinely excited for being able to spend so much time with the girl. Liseli didn't hate him. She seemed smart. She was pretty. They could work together, surely.

The rest of him was pretty much dreading what was to come.

He didn't want to '_continue his father's legacy_', like how he'd said at the Reaping. His father's actions had made Azrael's life miserable, a living **hell**.

He didn't want to kill.

But that's what they were expecting of him. His District. The Capitol. Maybe all of Panem, once word spread to the Districts about his father.

Azrael stared agape at the door, which was suddenly flung inwards. There stood a familiar man in a grey uniform, chained and being frog-marched into the room by a squadron of Peacekeepers.

Well, speak of the devil.

"How…" the boy breathed, backing away slowly from the bedraggled, unshaven man. The resemblance between the two was still uncanny, despite how dirty and broken-down Cassis Rachaye looked.

"What, no cry of joy? No hug?" the man noted airily.

"But…You're supposed to be dead," Azrael muttered weakly. "F-For killing a-all those women..."

The convict shrugged. "Eh, they kept me alive. My brain's too valuable for studies to just kill off. I'll be imprisoned for life, but I'm not getting executed any time soon. Now, step closer."

"What the fuck," the teen squeaked, face pale. "No. No, this can't really be true…"

"Denial? Foul language? Tut tut, Azrael, I thought I raised you better than that. Although, you looked like you grew up well—you look just like me, when I was your age," Cassis laughed, a patronizing smile on his face, showing his yellowed teeth.

What neither of them expected was for Azrael to give an animalist cry of rage, and tackle Cassis.

"You fucking **bastard**!" Azrael howled, trying to throttle the man. "After all the **shit** I've been through because of you, you're just going to waltz in here and pretend that everything's okay?! FUCK YOUR HUG, YOU TOOL."

More peacekeepers rushed into the room, ripping the boy away from his father, and holding the thrashing youth at bay.

"Mom killed herself because of you!" Azrael screamed, spit flying. "Kael and I were orphaned! Bullied! Shunned! And they even took Kael away! All because of you, you **asshole**!"

All Cassis did was stare at his son, head cocked slightly to the side, only looking mildly interested. He seemed entirely unfazed of his son having tried to throttle him, his hatred, or news of his broken, dead family.

"We're so alike, Azrael," the man noted, amused. "Not just in looks. You'll see, when you're in the Arena. You'll end up just like your old man."

"You stopped being my '_old man'_ once you were incarcerated for murder," the boy hissed. "You're **dead** to me. So you can go to Hell, knowing that you're just sick, twisted, and **alone**."

This finally gained a reaction from the convict. He gave a sneer, spitting at the teen's feet. "You can't escape, Azrael. Murder's in your blood." Then he gave a sharp bark of laughter. "When you come back, you can kill me yourself!"

"You can count on it," Azrael stated stonily, before telling the Peacekeepers, "You can take him away now."

Once the Peacekeepers marched out of the room, dragging the serial killer in tow, Azrael shakily lumbered to the couch. He tripped, falling flat onto the furniture, burying his face into the cushions and trying to breathe evenly.

He **won't** cry. He **won't** give the bastard the satisfaction.

* * *

**Liseli Avere, 18, D9**

Her friends, Nadia and Felix, come in first.

Nadia runs and swiftly brings the taller girl into a tight hug. After a minute she pulls back, a strained smile on her face despite the tears running down her face.

"I-I'm sorry. I'm trying my best to not be a burden in our last minutes, but…" the girl explained, voice wavering, breaking back into sobs.

"Shhhh, it'll be fine…" Liseli murmured awkwardly, giving a few pats on the short girl's head, as if she was a child.

"S-See? **You're** the one getting Reaped, a-and I'm just crying!" Nadia wails.

Liseli wishes that the girl didn't have such a good heart sometimes, because she just can **not** deal with crying people. Then swiftly after that thought, she regrets thinking ill of her friend from childhood.

"It's fine," Liseli repeated, patting Nadia again. Pat pat.

Nadia finally pulls away with a watery sniff, and Felix steps forwards silently, his usually bored face looking pained. The two partake in a very wooden, awkward hug in which he merely pats her sides, not wanting to fully wrap his arms around her.

Felix didn't like hugs, and the fact that he was even attempting to give her one was touching in itself. He usually held back his emotion, so his worried face and phantom hug showed just how distraught he was.

Liseli gave him a few pats on the head as well, despite him being taller than her. Pat pat.

The visit didn't last long. The goodbyes for District Nine were only 10 minutes apiece, and usually allowed just 3 or 4 visits. Time constraints, because Nine was so far away from the Capitol.

Liseli feels oddly calm, as her friends leave, and are replaced by her parents.

Loralie and Elias Avere simply sit down on the couch and hold their daughter. They don't cry, despite their misty eyes and tight throats.

They don't fill Liseli with false hope, either, saying that she'll definitely win and come back to them. Her parents just say they believe that she'll do her best to return.

"We love you, Liseli," her father murmurs. "You're our precious girl. Our only child."

"No matter how stern we've acted, we've always loved you dearly," her mother adds, as she massages her daughter's scalp soothingly. "We're proud of the girl you grew up to be."

"I don't doubt that," Liseli answers calmly, a fond smile on her face as she hugs her parents tightly. "Though, I'm sorry I haven't helped enough."

"You've done plenty," her father interjects. "You're a hard worker; you've done well in school. It's the most we could have hoped for."

The girl sheds no tears when her parents leave. It's part her composed nature, and part her prideful nature. Perhaps she would regret not getting emotional, for not crying, later on—but for now, she's fine.

Still fearful, but fine. She will **not** yield.

* * *

**Tazmithius 'Taz' Emerald, Victor of the 20****th**** Annual Hunger Games, D10**

Tazmithius Emerald got a fitful night of sleep. The young Victor slowly swung his legs over the side of his large bed. He took up a pill bottle on his nightstand to pop the prescribed two yellow pills.

He then padded to the bathroom attached to his room, going through his routine of washing and drying the burn scars that littered his arms and legs, and applying medical salve. It's almost been a year since he got them, but he still keeps it up, even if the scars are as healed as they'll get.

Tending to his scars is mostly just for the routine, and to help ease Ma and Buddy's worries. Taz honestly doesn't mind their fussing; he'll let them, so that they don't worry more later.

Plus, it just shows that people care. And people caring about him shows how lucky he is.

The scars he kept were specifically to help him remember that, too. That despite getting burned to all hell and back, even with the odds stacked against him, he still _survived_.

Taz shuffled out of his room, clad in bunny slippers and green pajamas. He went down to the living room, setting his eyes on the two dogs loitering about.

"Heya Gloom, Ray," Taz chirped, plopping down on the floor to rub their heads. He was really fond of the two dogs—strays that he picked up from the District. He always adored small animals, and despite the fact that his old pet dog died tragically a few years back, he wanted to try again with some new dogs.

Gloom, the white Pomeranian pup, merely lay calmly as Taz rubbed him. Ray, however, was just like his name—a ray of sunshine, bouncing about, constantly trying to lick Taz's face.

"C-C'mon Ray, I just washed up!" Taz squealed, laughing at the rambunctious, young Golden Retriever that didn't relent in licking every inch of exposed skin.

Which wasn't much, actually. Taz had a habit of wearing long sleeves, jackets, and full pants even **before** he became Victor. So now, wearing all that clothing helped protect his scars from contamination and other things. Amongst staring.

Because people in Ten **really** liked to stare at him. It's like they wondered if he was going to collapse on them at any second.

Maybe coming out of the Arena as a cracked, black, bleeding mess didn't help make it seem like Taz was the healthiest or fittest person. Nor having to be shipped to an emergency room, getting a week of almost nonstop surgeries to piece him back together as an actual **person** instead of a walking barbeque, before Panem heard or saw his condition.

Buddy told him that all of Panem worried, hoping that Taz was okay. Hoping that he made it.

But he's okay now! So he **may** have gotten dozens of surgeries, and he **may** have to get strongly medicated, and he **may** be scarred, and he **may** have to do things a little gingerly sometimes, and he **may** not actually grow from his short height because of his injuries, and he **may** not look the exact same as he did from before his Victory because of the surgeries, but…

He's been getting way better! He doesn't have to go through intense physical therapy anymore, the amount of medicines has declined to only 4 that he needs to take regularly, they took him off morphling **ages** ago, he has full mobility back, he rarely feels any pain or irritation from his previous injuries, and his scars aren't **that** bad.

People just like to worry, because he was never the oldest, strongest, or tallest Victor. That he looked like he wouldn't Mentor for the 21st Games.

But he's **going** to Mentor, no matter everyone's concerns. He's a Victor; it's part of his job.

He may be naïve and new and young, but the Tributes will still need him. **Buddy** will still need him. The poor man's been alone in Mentoring for far enough.

"Taz, it's noon and you're still in your pajamas?" came an amused voice from the doorway. Taz looked behind him, beaming at the man who was his Mentor, became a father figure, and who's done so **much** for Taz in the past year.

"I've still got plenty of time to get ready, Buddy!" Taz chirped, managing to bat away Ray's advances, giggling.

"Well, ya better get ready for lunch at our place," the blonde said warmly. "You don't wanna worry your Mama by being alone here for longer than ya have to."

"I keep tellin' her that it's okay to leave me here by myself," the boy noted in fond exasperation, green eyes twinkling. "I've got my pups for company, and I've always been able to slip outta trouble."

"I don't doubt that—but it's better to not worry your loved ones," the man intoned, giving a pointed look and expecting smile at the boy.

Taz gave a careless shrug, obligingly going off to his room to change into proper clothes. He was a good son—he did what he was told, or what got implied.

Lunch was a lively affair at the Rancher's home, next door. Buddy's entire family was there—including his siblings with their families, and his parents.

It was nice, being surrounded by so many people. The Emeralds were always a small family—which had kept getting smaller, every time tragedy struck, until it only left Taz with his Mama. But the Ranchers were welcoming, kind, and large. They did whatever possible to include Taz and his Mama; and the two ended up being considered part of the family.

The group left the Victor's Village as 3 p.m. drew near. Taz held Gloom in his arms, Ray bouncing around his feet, and chatted happily with the Rancher children.

His Mama kept fussing over him, constantly asking him if he felt alright. Even when the group got to the Main Square, she hovered uncertainly over her short son.

"Mama, I'll be fine," Taz soothed, keeping her hands away by shoving Gloom into her arms. "Buddy's gonna be up there with me, y'know. He'll keep me outta trouble."

"For sure," the other Victor added, smiling down and ruffling the younger one's hair. "He'll be in good hands."

As the two Victors walked towards the stage, Buddy muttered, "I wonder who they hired to replace Brisket?"

That's right—Ten's Escort, Brisket Rarity, finally retired when Taz won. She'd been Escorting since the very first Games

Their curiosity was answered, as a white and neon-green blur stopped in front of them.

"Hello! I'm Serenity Espere—but just call me Remu, everyone does," chirped a tall teenage girl who looked to still be of Reaping age, skin white as a sheet of paper. She drew them both into quick hugs. "I'm your new Escort—fresh off the block! I hope I'll do okay!"

Taz smiled brightly at her. "Don't worry—I'm new at this too!"

"I'm sure that you'll do your best," Buddy added comfortingly.

"Awww, thank you! You Ten-ers are so nice! Nice people for a nice District!" she giggled, bouncing on her feet. "Ooh, you should get comfortable, though. The ceremony's going to start in 3 minutes, 25 seconds!" she added, zooming off to chat with the Mayor.

Remu seemed nice and energetic, even if she looked odd with her neon-green pigtails, pink eyes, and ghostly skin. But at least she seemed enthusiastic for being Ten's Escort. She was wearing a cow print skirt, cowboy boots, jean jacket, and plaid shirt—all in white and eye-burning neon green, but it was the thought that counts.

The Reaping started with Remu's enthusiasm. "Welcome, welcome, to District Ten's Reaping! I'm Serenity Espere, District Ten's new Escort from the Capitol—but just call me Re-mooooooo!"

The girl giggled, pantomiming towards her attire—specifically, her cow print skirt. There came laughter from some of the younger children, as well as derisive snorts from the older crowd. Remu simply smiled proudly, seemingly taking the reception as a good one.

Taz paid rapt attention to the ceremony. It was his first Reaping as a Victor, so he felt like he should be ready and professional about it. Remu's pep and antics helped keep things interesting, too.

This has probably been the most he—and any other kid—has ever paid attention to the actual Reaping speeches. Brisket had been nice, but the speeches are just really dry, long, and wordy. Remu added pizzazz to it, almost like she was a performer.

"Alright, now to Reap the names!" the Capitolite noted, clapping her hands crisply once the usual promotional video from the Capitol ended. "To change things up a bit, for my first year as Escort—Boys first!"

As the girl flounced towards the glass bowls, Taz hoped that his friends and schoolmates wouldn't get Reaped. Because One, it would be **awful**. And Two, it would be **awkward**.

Then again, having to Mentor someone that was older than him—which likely, since he was barely 15—would be even **more** awkward…

Taz felt Buddy go rigid next to him, as Remu's hand dived deep into the glass bowl.

Oh, that's right…! Buddy's kids! Two of them were Reaping age—13 and 15.

Gosh, this must be 10 times worse for him. These are the lives of his **kids** on the line, rather than just friends and peers. Poor guy...

"Clovis Essenerus—come on up!" the Capitolite called. The two Victors let out breaths of relief in-synch. Taz then instantly felt guilty, because it wasn't right to feel relieved, since someone was still getting Reaped.

Once he caught sight of the tank of a boy that got Reaped as he stalked out of the 17 year olds section, the guilt instantly fled.

Wow, this guy was **huge**! Easily 6 feet tall, muscled, who looked like he could pick up Taz and snap him in half.

The fact that Clovis was laughing quite evilly and running towards the stage with a wide, predatory smile on his face only magnified the feeling. This guy would be fine; he's strong enough that probably no one would feel bad for him getting Reaped for the Hunger Games.

Taz gaped at the boy, looking up as he towered over everyone on stage. Clovis looked much more aggressive and strong up close. The buttons of his white button-down looked like they could pop off at any second.

What's Clovis even been **doing** to get so big? What've they been **feeding** him? Taz was only 2 years younger than him, and yet there was at least a foot difference in height, a hundred pounds in weight, and four times when it came to muscle mass.

"Oh, wow," the Escort muttered breathlessly, before going over to stick her hand in the girl's glass bowl. Buddy—who already seemed very tense and wary from Clovis' presence—went completely rigid.

"Mattie Wilde, come on up!"

The two Victors let out sighs of relief once more, and Buddy relaxed slightly. Taz watched as the 17 year old section female section parted around a redhead who wore a kilt and long, black leather boots.

Mattie looked shocked for about three seconds, before her expression was one of anger. She strode forwards, her face set in a deep frown, her red hair billowing behind her dramatically.

"YOU!" Clovis exclaimed, spittle flying from his mouth, as Mattie took the stage. "Why the hell am I stuck with **this** bitch?!"

"I'm not exactly happy with these here arrangements either, Cheese Prince, so shut yer fuckin' trap," the girl growled crossly.

Uh oh. These two knew each other—and it obviously wasn't pleasant.

"Oooh, I can smell the drama already," Remu noted in a loud whisper, looking between the two Tributes.

This seemed to only irritate the two teens. Forced to stand in each other's vicinity, they looked ready to rip each other's throats out.

"Please, save the violence for the Games," the Capolite noted in amusement, as she watched the two look ready to start brawling on the stage. This caused Mattie to stiffen, and Clovis to give an evil sneer.

"Oh, you'll **bet** there'll be some violence in the Games between us," Clovis hissed. "Better be ready fer it, Horse Bitch."

"Course I will, Cheese Prince. I ain't gonna let you fuckin' kill me," Mattie retorted with a snort.

"Tributes, shake hands!" Remu sang, all smiles. The two teens turned towards each other, gripping one another's hand, eyes meeting. Taz could all but feel the tension and killer intent.

"Oh, and no breaking each other's hands," the Capolite added lightly. Taz gulped; the two had, in fact, looked like they were trying to break each other's hands, with how strong their grips were.

The Tributes let go almost instantly after Remu spoke, as if burned, revolted looks on their faces as they glared at each other. Soon enough, the Escort cheerfully wrapped up the Reaping, and the Tributes were led warily towards the Justice Building.

"Oh boy, those two sure are…**interestin'**, for my first year of Mentoring," Taz noted, giving a nervous laugh.

Buddy gave a sigh, passing a hand through his hair. "I feel like Clovis is gonna be more trouble; he looks like he'd be violent. **I'll** take him. Mattie will go easier on you."

"Don't worry, I'll handle it!" the younger Victor said, trying to ease his mentor's obvious worries. "I think you'll need all your energy on Clovis, so just worry about him, okay?"

"Lord, I sure hope we can handle them…" Buddy muttered.

Well, even if they couldn't, there wasn't any use crying over spilled milk.

* * *

**Mattie Wilde, 17, D10**

The Peacekeepers told her that she'd only get 10 minutes a goodbye, so she better make it count.

Mattie wishes they could double the time for her family, since she's pretty damn sure that none of her classmates would come. She was a blunt, bossy, and hotheaded—things that didn't make her too popular with her peers.

Whatever. No use crying over spilled hay.

Her family is crying. Even her usually tough dad is shedding tears—and that freaks her out.

Butch Wilde has always held strong in the face of adversity, and him standing there stonily with two tear tracks on his gruff face is bizarre.

But Mattie also has to deal with arms full of sobbing little brother, a hysterical mother who's fussing over her, and a doe-faced older sister that's crying even **worse** than when her old boyfriend died a few years back in the Games.

It's overwhelming and uncomfortable, and all this crying is making Mattie restless. She feels like either yelling at them, crying along with them.

She wishes she could just go galloping away from her troubles on her trusty horse. She doesn't want to **deal** with all this **shit**.

"Everyone, quiet!" Butch suddenly roared, causing his family to jolt, and quiet down.

"We're wastin' time," the man growled, looking worried. He bent down on one knee with a grunt, and held Mattie's shoulders in his strong hands. "We know you'll do yer best to come back. You'll be back home before we know it. Keep strong, baby girl."

There came a flurry of last-minute hugs, before the Wilde family was escorted out of the room.

Too little time. Even if she comes back, that shaky goodbye was pretty pathetic for a sendoff.

The door opened once more, and Mattie looked up, blue eyes blinking dubiously at the sight.

Why the hell was the gang here…? Weren't they afraid of getting caught and thrown in the slammer?

"What, you honestly didn't think we'd let you leave without a goodbye, did you?" Dick drawled, arms crossed.

The redhead merely stared at the three young men. "You guys are gonna be fuckin' goners without me," she noted with a snort. "Waltzing into the Justice Building…You dumbasses…" But she said so fondly, giving a half-smile at the trio.

"Hey, hey—That's no way to talk to your friends!" the youngest interjected, giving a cute pout. No matter the situation, Bart always tried to be lighthearted. "We're a team, so we need to be there for each other—strategy shouldn't matter!"

"Says the guys who couldn't deal with a damn newborn pony," the girl noted with a smirk, referring to the event on how she met them. "A buildin' with Peacekeepers, with **yer** professions? You'd think you'd stay away from that."

"We make exceptions," interjected the leader, Reid. "Sending off one of our members is just one of them. **Especially** if it's a member who's plans have helped us from getting caught a few dozen times."

The tall man cocked his head to the side, smiling pointedly. "But…?" Mattie pressed, raising an eyebrow.

"But, well…I always wondered your reasons for joining us," Reid laughed, tapping the side of his leg. "Other than blackmail. Or because you felt us to be morons that needed a guiding hand."

Reid was always kind, great at reading others. It's why he wasn't too bothered with Dick, despite the other man's gruffness. Probably why he was so patient with her, too.

"…Okay, fine," Mattie sighed, rolling her eyes. "I did it for the thrill of getting caught, being constantly in danger. Happy?"

"Very," the leader laughed, swooping in to pull her into a hug. Soon, the scoundrels were in a group hug. "Try not getting caught in danger when you're in the Games, though. Use that head of yours and your brilliant strategies to get yourself outta there."

Well, this was a far cry from getting any actual, useful advice, but…It was still a good reminder. Mattie had a habit of letting her temper control her— but she needed to be more agreeable and calm if she wanted to not get herself killed.

"Can't promise anythin', but I'll try," she stated, watching as the trio were escorted out.

She'll be trying her damn hardest, and no one—not even Clovis—is going to stop her.

* * *

**Clovis Essenerus, 17, D10**

Clovis was always perpetually pissed off, but being stuck with Mattie Wilde as a District partner just made him **angry**.

Whatever. This'll just let him deal with her personally—because no matter what, at least she'll fucking **die**.

No use crying over spilled whey, as his parents would say.

Actually, speaking of his parents—they entered the fancy, breakable room soon after Clovis got there. His little sister followed them warily.

The beefy boy gave a dark grin, amused at how uncomfortable his family looked.

His parents quickly stepped forwards to hug him and say goodbye. Sariah hung back nervously, and Clovis beckoned her closer. She flinched, slowly, shakily nearing him.

The boy yanked her forwards, wrapping her in a hug that smothered her and caused her to squeak in pain from the force. The Peacekeeper stationed protectively just inside the door stiffened, but didn't interfere, feeling that the hug technically wasn't violent.

Clovis let his little sister go with a smirk. His parents eyed him suspiciously, but didn't say anything.

Maybe Lisa and Clovis Sr. held too much faith in him. Maybe they were scared of him as the rest of the District was. Whatever the reason, they never once tried to confront him on why little Sariah always looked bruised, and how she always seemed skittish and afraid of her big brother.

His family left quickly. Clovis waited, giving a victorious sneer as Shannon appeared. He knew she'd come, to not incur his wrath later, when he returns.

The girl quivered as she stepped further into the room. "H-Hello Clovis," she whispers, her head ducked down. Clovis can barely see the black eye he gave her recently, from the angle of her head.

"You gonna say anythin' else to me, _dear_?" he pressed, smirking as she flinched.

"Y-Yes, of course. I-I love you, Clovis," she stuttered, fiddling with her fingers nervously. "And I…I'm pregnant."

Clovis stared at her, shocked.

How in the hell did she get pregnant?! Unless…

"YOU SLUTTY BITCH!" he roared, lunging at her, fist pulled back to deck her in the face. But the Peacekeeper inside the room quickly pulled the quivering girl back, and shoved her out the door.

With barely a second to realize it, Clovis was locked, alone, inside the room. He roared in rage, pounding at the door incessantly, cursing the girl out with every expletive he knew.


	13. D11-D12 Reapings: Shake It Out

**AN**: So this is finally the **last** Reaping chapter! If you haven't voted on the poll, you should do that, because next chapter will have a different one. Next few chapters will be the train rides and Chariots!

Also, there's a small cameo of one of my tribbies in here, because I can. :V The song in Homini's section is When The Work's All Done This Fall.

Warnings: Vamiya. Just…Vamiya. Also, Canteen's stupidity.

* * *

D11-D12 Reapings: Shake It Out

"_It's always darkest before the dawn,_

_And I've been a fool, and I've been blind,  
I can never leave the past behind,  
I can see no way, I can see no way."_

* * *

**Homini Laridge, Victor of the 19****th**** Annual Hunger Games, D11**

Homini was up when the sun rose, restless, itching to do something. She got up, putting on her trusty work clothes—dirty overalls, worn shirt, and brown work boots.

The morning air was crisp, but that would certainly change at a later hour. It was usually hot in Eleven from the time between morning and night. The Reapings would probably make the crowd sweat buckets.

Homini hefted up her hoe, making sure to attack any weeds that would creep into her crop. As she worked, she sang a work song that's popular in the fields—an old song that's been passed down from generations of the dark-colored people of North America.

"_Send my mother my wages, boys, the wages I have earned,  
I am so afraid, boys, the last steer I have turned,  
I'm headed for a new range, I hear my Master call,  
I'll not see my mother when the work's all done this fall…"_

Tilling always helped calm her down. Which was a reason why Homini turned the plot of land that was her back yard into a cornfield in the first place. To keep working, so she wouldn't get lazy.

Field work was one of the few familiar, concrete things in her life. She'd have slowly gone crazy if she couldn't keep planting crops as a hobby, or be able to occasionally help out in the fields.

It was part of who she was. It gave her purpose.

Homini's morals flew out the window when she killed in the Games. She had more wealth than she knew what to do with. People treated her differently—like an ingenious miracle-bringer instead of a fellow field worker. Her family acted weird, tiptoeing around her, as if they were afraid of triggering her into violence.

Her life up until the Games had been simple. To work hard. Enjoy the little things. Enjoy the presence of her family, friends, and fellow workers. Take pride in herself and her work. Live and die a field worker. No complaints. Just gratefulness for her good life.

She was one of the most pacifistic, loyal District dwellers. She kept her nose down, did what she was told, and thanked the good Lord for her fortune of a loving family and a roof over her head.

And even now, two years later, it still baffled her that she was a Victor. That the Capitol and the Lord decided to grant her fortune and fame, when she was happy in her prior, humble life. So many others needed the money more than her, and yet **she** was somehow the one that got Reaped, and won.

Her District didn't complain, though. They were grateful that they finally got a Victor after almost 2 decades without one. They loved how she still tried to help them, fed them, funded the orphanage. That she worked alongside them, helped lessen the harsh hand of the Peacekeepers.

Even if some of them were put out that she didn't try to demand better conditions from the Capitol, they still appreciated that she didn't abandon them for an opulent life of Victory.

Demanding anything from the Capitol was really hard, anyways. They were the leaders of Panem. Their betters. Sure, things could get a little tough, but the Capitol was there to make sure things didn't get _worse_. Because things could be much, **much** worse.

Droughts were awful for everyone in Eleven, killing off acres of both crops **and** citizens. But whenever they had bad droughts, the Capitol would ship water from Five over to them. Most houses of the workers were small and unstable, but the fields held no cover or materials to work with, and getting enough wood for homes from the orchards would ruin the trees and fruits. The Capitol provided them wood from Seven, and tin sheets from Two.

At least Eleven got **something**. They got help—probably more than District Twelve did. District Twelve was the poorest District in all of Panem, bless their souls. It's no wonder that they only have one Victor— and only because Sab was strong enough to win the 18th Games.

Homini and Sab were very alike, actually. They came from the poorest Districts, which held no Victors the longest duration of all the Districts. They were both rather tall, bulky, and strong—rare when it came to their usual Tributes. They were both very popular Victors.

They were also happy, hard workers that tried to improve situations in their Districts, and won right after the other. All things considering, Homini and Sab got on very well.

She was actually somewhat excited to get to hang out with him again. She was also determined to try her best with her Tributes for this year, despite how last year's died in the Bloodbath.

The sun beat down on her, blazing, and her muscles were protesting before she finally stopped working. She went back inside to wash up in her big tub, enjoying the air-cooler device in her home.

When her family exited their home at 3, Homini felt like she was going to melt. And this was considering she wore just a bra, cut-open Capitol shirt, and jean shorts.

When Homini trudged into the Square at half past 3, Peacekeepers were quick to form a barrier around her to bodily push her through the packed crowd. She winced, feeling guilty; the kids weren't blocking her way purposefully, after all.

Eleven's Escort from the Capitol—Sushi Diver—was already on-stage. He was complaining rather loudly over his sweat-swamped, expensive clothes at the Mayor.

At least he ditched the heavy cape he wore last time. This time, he's wearing black slacks, and a shirt with long, puffy sleeves, and a blue sash.

But the fact that he unbuttoned his shirt entirely would get him a sunburn later. Whites usually burned badly in the sun for long amounts of time in Eleven, which partially explained why they rarely worked in the fields.

Sushi stopped complaining once Homini took the stage—but that was only because he was appreciatively looking her over.

Homini felt her skin crawl. Sushi was an unpleasant person at the best of times, and she honestly did not appreciate it when Capitolites stared at her like a piece of meat.

She didn't want to turn out like Kitty, or Festus and Eshana.

Selfishly, Homini is glad that she's not considered to be very attractive, by Capitol standards. Her masculine, muscled body doesn't make her desirable, despite how popular she is.

Homini is the perfect, romanticized representation of her District. Her 'image' hinges on her being genial and honest, who'll easily follow the Capitol's lead. President Monochrome wouldn't gain much if he tries to force her into that business.

The ceremony starts. Everyone looks sweaty and miserable; even the Peacekeepers.

"And thusly…Oh, to hell with it. It's too damn hot for this shite!" the Escort exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air, scattering his script for the speeches in frustration. "No one even gives a rat's arse over the speeches! Just start the video!"

The promotional video shortly comes on, displayed on the large screens. The tech people from the Capitol must agree wholeheartedly with him.

"Now to Reap the names!" Sushi rushes, barely as the video ends. He drags the microphone over to the bowls instead of doing the traditional '_walk over to pick each slip at a time and having to walk back and forth to drag the time out dramatically'_.

"Girls—Vamiya Willows," Sushi states curtly.

It doesn't take long to find Vamiya. The girl instantly struts from the middle of the sections, hips swaying, throwing winks and kisses at the wolf whistles thrown her way.

The girl is only wearing a tank top and incredibly short skirt, her thick hair in a ponytail. She's smiling, basking in the cat calls; disturbingly enough, a majority are coming from the crowd of adults.

Vamiya holds a sultry smile as she takes the stage, licking her lips for the cameras. Sushi leers at her. Homini feels incredibly uncomfortable.

Lord in Heaven, did she just jinx herself…? Homini had been worried over prostitution a minute ago, and now a girl who seems to be some sort of well-known hussy was Reaped.

She'll need to talk with Kitty, and get some advice with this.

Vamiya slides up to the Escort, standing suspiciously close to him and batting her eyes. She's short—around 5 feet 4 inches—and even **Homini** can see down the girl's low-cut shirt.

It takes a few seconds for Sushi to stop ogling the girl's breasts, before he realizes that the temperature is blazing and he should probably Reap the boy's name.

Homini prays to the Almighty Lord for a boy that will be much more bearable to Mentor.

"Boys—Locce Palenciste?" the Escort muttered, butchering the pronunciation.

A small, thin boy managed to stumble out of the crowd, having struggled to get through the packed people.

"How old are you, kid? Thirteen?" Sushi drawled at the underfed teen that took the stage.

"I'm _sixteen_," the boy muttered, looking like he constantly had people questioning his age.

"Whatever, let's wrap this up," the Capitolite snorted. "Volunteers? No? Alright, then—"

"I Volunteer."

The entire Square freezes.

Eleven hasn't had a Volunteer in **years**. In the first few Games, many desperate children Volunteered for the chance of winning to gain the Victor's spoils; but the practice has been almost nonexistent in the last decade.

A figure fights their way through the packed crowd. Eventually, children start to shuffle out of the way, forming a path for the Volunteer.

The boy ascends the steps. He's around Vamiya's height, his skin a lighter brown than hers. His black hair is short, spiked up from sweat. He looks like he's stifled in his white collared shirt and brown cotton pants.

The Reaped boy slips down the steps like a shadow, and the Volunteer steps forwards to take his place next to the Escort. Despite his youth, his face is perfectly serious and calm.

"Well, things have certainly gotten interesting," Sushi noted. "Your name?" the man asks, shoving the microphone in the boy's face.

"Hastiin Tsoh," he states simply.

"Why'd you Volunteer? You knew that kid, or something?" Sushi asks, before shoving the microphone back at Hastiin.

"No. I have never met him in my life," he replies evenly.

"Eleven hasn't had a Volunteer in a decade—what's your reason, then?" the Capitolite asked, baffled.

Hastiin blinks slowly, taking the device. He turns to face the crowd squarely, shoulders set, looking very mature.

"I'm 14. This is my third Reaping," he starts, voice quiet. "But it's 3 Reapings too many, of just waiting, uselessly worrying if I'll be chosen…3 Reapings, in which I realized that I **shouldn't** be just listlessly waiting to get the life squeezed out of me."

"No. I want to **choose,** instead of letting it happen to me," he states firmly. "I want to contribute something **worthwhile**, even if—no, **especially** if—I am going to die. And if that contribution happens to be me becoming a Victor, or dying for a cause I believe in—at least I'll have chosen it."

Homini took in a sharp breath, staring at awe at the young boy.

At first, he seemed so reserved, so listless. But then it turned out that he held a steady strength and firm passion. His stance was hardy, and he held fire within his eyes.

The trance was broken by Sushi Diver—because as long as **he** was around, no one could have nice things.

"I asked for an explanation, not a damn speech, kid," the man sneered, ripping the microphone from the boy's grasp. Hastiin shot him a tetchy look, muttering what suspiciously sounded like "_District Four wannabee_" under his breath.

"Alright, Tributes, shake hands," Sushi ordered.

Hastiin stiffly turned towards Vamiya, holding out his hand. The girl took it in hers, stepping in much closer than necessary.

"My my, you're both brave **and** cute," Vamiya purrs, giving Hastiin bedroom eyes. "I think we'll be very…_close_, don't you?"

The poor boy looked very uncomfortable, despite his blank face. He tried to wiggle his grip out of hers, but she held strong. He was forced to stay like that until Sushi ended the ceremony, and the Peacekeepers came to escort the duo away.

When the ceremony finishes, Sushi saunters over to Homini, running a hand through his blue hair. "For once, something **interesting** happened here. A bloody miracle," he noted with a smug grin, looking pleased.

"They're sure both interesting, alright," she answered vaguely. She had faith that Hastiin would be mature and intelligent enough to not cause her much trouble in Mentoring, but Vamiya was an entirely different story.

"If you want, I can help you Mentor Vamiya, so you can focus on the boy…" the man said casually. But there was a sly look in his eyes, and his toothy grin made Homini's skin crawl.

Sushi complained vehemently last year over just about everything, and barely helped at **all**. The fact that he suddenly wants to is incredibly suspicious, and obvious; you'd have to be blind to not see it.

"Um…Thank you for the kind offer," the Victor said, slightly queasy.

The man was in his mid-twenties, making at least 8 or 9 years of an age difference between him and Vamiya. For her sanity, Homini hopes that they don't do anything inappropriate.

* * *

**Vamiya Willows, 16, D11**

Vamiya wishes she had more time for goodbyes. Only 4 visits 5 minutes apiece isn't enough time to really do anything fun, and she can't see all her favorite guys. Maybe one of her little Peacekeeper friends will visit later.

Shannah and David Willows rush into the room whilst Vamiya is planning out how she can seduce and steal her District partner's virginity. The two quickly wrap their daughter into tight hugs, crying hysterically.

She wraps her arms around them, smiling much too widely to be normal. Her parents still thought of Vamiya is their precious little angel, and didn't realize that their daughter was psychologically unstable.

When her parents pull back, Vamiya sheds fake tears, only allowing her pretty face to have two tear tracks.

"I can't believe they're going to take my little girl away, and turn her into…Into…" her father muttered, looking horrified.

"They can't do this!" her mother wailed, ugly crying—the type of crying that ruins complexions, where your face gets twisted up in unflattering positions. Vamiya is somewhat disgusted by the sight, since she gets most of her looks from the woman—so she can clearly see just how **awful** true, ugly-crying can look on her.

"You're all we have left…After Minnie…" her father said, expression pained.

"Now you'll die tragically too!" her mother sobbed, clinging onto Vamiya and stroking her hair.

The girl jerked back, annoyed at Shannah messing up her hair, and enraged on the fact that they mentioned her little sister. Said little sister was jeering in the corner.

"_If you didn't drown me in the tub, Sis, Mommy and Daddy would still have me…They wouldn't be so sad_," the little ghost girl giggled, bouncing on her heels.

Fuck her little troll of a sister—she killed the brat for this very reason! Minnie had been hogging all her parent's love and attention, and Vamiya had been utterly sick of it.

This was **Vamiya's** goodbye, damn it! All the attention should be on **her**, not her stupid sister that's been dead for 3 years.

"Shut up," she growled aloud, to both her sister and parents. She straightened her back confidently. "I'll come back. It'll be easy."

Minnie laughed hysterically, as her parents left. The little girl lingered, arms crossed behind her back.

"Leave, you stupid gremlin," Vamiya growled in annoyance.

"_Nuh uh. I'll stay with you forever, Big Sis. You haven't figured that out yet?"_ Minnie smiled.

"Shut up. You're not real," Vamiya hissed under her breath.

"_You __**made**__ me real_," the 6 year old retorts.

…No matter what she does, Vamiya will never be able to leave the past—and her little sister—behind, will she? God, that's annoying.

* * *

**Hastiin Tsoh, 14, D11**

Hastiin sits calmly on the small, somewhat threadbare couch, contrasting to his frantic friend.

"I-I can't **believe** you actually **did** that!" Myrt wails in distress.

The boy was Hastiin's first visitor, since he'd been right in the Square when Hastiin had decided to Volunteer. Hastiin's parents would have to rush in a few minutes later to catch the tail end of the time for the Goodbyes, since they'd still been working in the fields.

The underfed, tiny boy is pacing nonstop, pulling at his dirty hair. "You had **years**, Hastiin! You c-could've been older and stronger and, and—"

"Myrt—"

"You're strong from field work, b-but you're not big enough to t-take down the Trained Tributes, a-and—" the boy makes a distressed, strained sound, suddenly latching onto Hastiin and sobbing into his shoulder.

Hastiin awkwardly pats his friend on the head, not knowing how to comfort him. He felt bad for putting such a loyal friend—and his loving parents—through this, but he wasn't going to back down.

The only way to get ahead in **changing** things, in dismantling the Capitol's power, had to be done from the inside. It would be slow, possibly even small— but if no one was going to attempt it, damn it, he's still going to **try**.

To start a march, someone needs to take the first few steps, before others would join and step along with them. It's always darkest, before the dawn.

And it's not like Hastiin could get out of this. They wouldn't allow a Volunteer to go, "_Never mind, I take it back. I don't want to Volunteer for the other kid's place, to be carted off to a death match_".

Besides, it would just be an insult to Jay.

Hastiin is doing this in his friend's memory—so that in the future, no more defenseless people will be whipped to death. So that trauma and tragedy will never be shoved upon others in such a horrifying way, like what had happened to him.

If Hastiin hadn't Volunteered today, he may have lost the nerve to ever do it. Perhaps he would even lose the true meaning, if he did so when he was 18, stronger and more prepared.

No, it **had** to be done now. While the Rebellious fire was still burning within him. While the sight of a young 11 year old boy being whipped at the stocks was still fresh in his mind's eye.

Whilst Myrt was ripped away from him by demons in white armor, still wailing unintelligibly and hiccupping, Hastiin tightened his fist around his token. The little blue jay patch that was only just an inch big, frayed and faded from time and constantly touching it.

His physical reminder. Of Jay. Of his cause, his purpose, his life before death plagued it.

He will never be able to leave the past behind.

* * *

**Sabbath 'Sab' Rubble, Victor of the 18****th**** Annual Hunger Games, D12**

Sab woke up next to his wife, his toddler daughter nestled in between them, and felt grateful to be alive.

And grateful that he didn't wake up angry. Thankfully, he's never stricken any of his family during his genetic anger fits. Sab believes that his father never did so, either—but he never got any concrete confirmation, either.

Sab's only thrown them off him when they tried to restrain him, maybe—but he's never slapped or punched any of them. Not his mother, not his sisters, not his wife, not his daughter.

It was wrong to hurt women. **Especially** women he loved and cared about with all his heart.

It's really lucky that despite the sudden fits of rage, he hasn't done so. Really lucky he never had to kill a girl in the Games, either. Killing a girl would haunt him, considering how all the important people in his life are women.

So Sabbath Rubble simply lay in his large, fluffy bed, a content smile on his face.

At some point, he fell back asleep, and then was jostled awake. He jerked, lying stiffly in his bed, muscles tensed. But he quickly relaxed at seeing the twinkling, big eyes of his 2 year old daughter, Lorayn.

Lorayn's named was combination of his father's name, Boran, and his District partner's name, Elayn. Two people in his life who died on him, who's deaths impacted him, who spurred him to keep on working to provide for others.

Most people of the District understood his father's death impacting Sab greatly. He'd stepped up as the eldest sibling, the 'man of the house', to help provide for his little sisters. He worked hard, became a miner, married. And all that hard work and knowledge of caverns helped him greatly in the Games.

The people of Twelve saw how saddened Sab had been when his District partner's picture flashed from the ceiling projectors. They saw how upset and respectful he'd been on the Victory tour, when he gave his speech over Elayn. But it seemed like they never truly realized just how truly attached he'd become with her.

Sab named his little miracle after those two people. To take death and despair, and apply it to life and hope.

Having a kid of his own spurred him to not just do his best at Mentoring, but to improve the welfare of other kids and families all across the District. Safety regulations at the mines, increase of wages, improvement of public water, child care funds, orphanage improvements, emergency bonds, morgue placements, insurance at the mines. Things that will stop making the mortality rate of Twelve be 67%, from a combination of starvation and mining accidents.

Most of these improvements were fueled by Sab's Victor spoils alone. The Capitol rarely helped. He had to fight tooth and nail to gain an insurance plan for the mine workers; giving medals of valor for the eldest children and a 3 month salary to the family, when the workers died in accidents. He also advocated for the safety regulations, and is slowly making headway, one clause at a time.

"Papa, can we have pancakesh?" little Lorayn asked, bouncing on top of her father's chest in excitement. "Mama says itsh a special day today!"

Sab grinned up at his little girl. "Yes, Mama's right. Pancakes sound good, don't they?" he noted, poking her in her stomach. Lorayn giggled happily, throwing her arms around her father's neck in a hug.

"Yaaaay! Pancakesh!" she crowed, getting off his chest and bouncing on the bed. "Pancakesh, pancakesh, pancakesh!"

Sab picked up the excited girl, putting her on his broad shoulders. The toddler squealed in delight as her father started to imitate a train, carrying her throughout the house in this way.

"Choo choo! Everyone join the breakfast traaaain!" he exclaimed, giving a booming laugh. His sisters popped their heads out of their rooms with amused grins, and all of them quickly joined his 'breakfast train', essentially creating a conga line.

They 'choo'd and danced their way through the house, before finally entered the dining room. There, Sab's mother sat nursing a cup of tea, looking incredibly amused at her children's antics.

"Gramma, join da breakfasht train!" Lorayn ordered from atop her father's towering figure in glee, her black pigtails bouncing.

"Thank you, but Gramma will go help your Mama with breakfast instead, little one," the woman answered kindly, her eyes crinkling.

Lorayne kept chanting 'pancakesh' excitedly, and cheered loudly, throwing her pudgy little hands in the air, when Anita Rubble entered the dining room with a large tray full of the fluffy flapjacks.

Lorayn, of course, got her breakfast first. Sab laughed heartily when the girl kept saying 'moooore', as her mother tried to gauge how much syrup to put on the pancakes.

The Rubbles sat down for a nice breakfast—bar a small incident in which Sab almost chucked a glass tray on the floor because of the sin of burnt bacon. But he was given cooked ham along with a heaping stack of pancakes, and some of the unburnt pieces of bacon, so that helped calm him right down.

Sab most of that morning before the Reaping, going to different places of business in the District to check up on things, make sure people were holding up well. He went back home to properly get ready—and get Lorayne to stop running around long enough to put her in her Reaping dress.

In what seemed like no time, the Rubbles were at the Town Square. The atypical banners were hung around the worn buildings, the stage erected importantly in front of the well-maintained Justice Building.

Sab bid his family goodbye, giving a kiss on his daughter's head, before bounding down to the stage. As he went, people smiled and bid him good afternoon.

The Victor ascended the steps, watching Precipity Slaks intently survey her watch.

"Staring at your watch won't make 4 o clock get here faster," he noted in amusement, giving a chuckle.

The Capitolite turned sharply on her 6 inch heels, giving a small frown. "It's professional to stay on schedule."

"I know, I know," Sab said, clapping the short Escort on the back and giving a friendly smile. "You've always done a great job, though, so you don't really need to worry about it!"

The blonde-haired woman gave a stiff nod, before muttering something under her breath and walking towards the podium.

Sab simply gave a jolly grin, and went over to sit down. Precipity may be a stick in the mud, but she did a damn good job at Escorting. She was really organized, always helped him gain sponsors, and did well with helping talk the kids through strategy. He was forgetful, and was never good at planning.

The ceremony finally started with a speech from the Mayor. The list of Victors for Twelve was called, holding just Sab's name. He stood up to get recognized, grinning and waving at the cheering crowd. His Victory was still fresh in their minds, as well as his actions to improve the District's welfare.

"Now I will draw the name for the brave young woman that will represent District Twelve," the Capitolite said formally, after a few minutes. Sab perked up, leaning forwards, wondering who he would Mentor.

Precipity walked towards the bowls, her tall heels clicking in the dead silence of the Square. Without preamble, she chose a slip at the top, and returned to the microphone.

"Ashia Henley."

The Victor watched as the a pen near the middle of the Square parted quickly around a pale, shaking little girl. She was wearing a patched, knee-length grey dress and grey shoes, looking like they had a case of '_Twelve's coal dust will dirty just about anything'_-itis.

Ashia stood, looking utterly horrified as she stared up at the stage. She then gave a strained, high-pitched whine, tears falling down from her squinty eyes. The Asian girl wobbled precariously, before her knees gave out, and she collapsed on the ground.

Well, **this** certainly wasn't a good start…

The Peacekeepers swarmed the poor scrap of a girl. She was hefted up easily by a female Peacekeeper, body limp if one barred the shaking from sobs, completely unresponsive. She didn't make an ounce of protest as she was marched over and dropped on the stage.

Literally, dropped on the stage. Like a marionette with its strings cut. She simply sat there, face blank, tears flowing down her cheeks.

Sab felt pity for the girl. She looked so tiny and helpless…

The Victor stood up, hefting his chair over to the podium, and set it down. Then he carefully picked up Ashia, and plopped her down on the seat.

"_Sabbath_…" Precipity hissed at him, looking peeved at him interrupting the ceremony.

He merely gave a grin. "She needs the chair more than me. Don't mind me," he said, giving a loud laugh and waving his hand nonchalantly.

The Capitolite sighed through her nose, before going back to the ceremony. "Now, I will draw the name of the brave young man that will accompany our female Tribute," she stated.

Sab went back to loitering in the general position he'd been in before, hoping to maybe get a Town kid to balance out the tiny Seam girl.

"Mitten Neverlast."

A brunette from the front of the pens stepped forwards instantly, and murmurs of pity quickly spread through the crowd for the 12 year old boy.

The little boy merely gave a shrug, and nonchalantly took the stage. An obnoxiously loud wail suddenly rose from the pens.

A boy burst from the crowd, stumbling over his feet, hysterically wailing "Mitteeeeeeeeeeeen!" He wore a tank top, baggy pajama pants, and house slippers. Sab looked between the new boy, and the 12 year old, noting that the two shared the exact same curly brown hair and grey eyes.

Mitten groaned, rubbing a hand on his face in apparent exasperation as the older boy started to bumble towards the stage. Two Peacekeepers came in to hold the boy back, who struggled and bucked like a spooked deer.

"I Volunteeeer!" the boy called out, flailing his arms, consistently smacking the uniformed men in the face. Once let go, the boy rushed forwards, tripping up the steps and face planting right on the stage.

"God **damn** it, Canteen," Mitten cursed, looking like he had constipation. "What the **hell** are you doing?!"

"Saving you, my dear, sweet little brother!" Canteen exclaimed, somehow managing to stand up and rush towards his younger brother without falling spectacularly.

"Yeah, I can see that, dumba—"

The older boy latched onto his sibling, smothering him in a hug. "How would Mitten ever get Reaped in the first place?! He's twelve! TWELVE! He only has one slip in the entire bowl!"

"Canteen, geroff!" the tiny boy exclaimed, trying to pry his older brother's arms off of him.

"Little Mitten-kitten would **never** deserve to die! Look at his adorable face! _Look at it_!" Canteen crowed, stopping smothering Mitten's face, only to rub their cheeks together in an embarrassing manner. "He's an angel!"

"**Canteen**, you fuc—"

"**Angel**!"

"Please let the Reaped boy go," Precipity interjects, looking incredibly irked. "Step over here, and give us your name."

The Volunteer pouts, but complies. Mitten scampers away before his brother can bring more dishonor on them.

"I'm Canteen Neverlast, and I Volunteered to save my adorable little brother," Canteen said, giving a goofy grin that showed a large gap where his front teeth should be.

"I see. Tributes, shake hands," the Escort says quickly, most likely wanting to avert another crisis.

Instead, Canteen gives a very dramatic gasp. "Oh my, you're so tiny and **precious**!" he coos to his District partner, bringing her into an enthusiastic, smothering hug. "Another 12 year old angel!"

"Canteen, we're in the _same class_," came an exasperated huff from what was probably Ashia's face.

"Geeze, what is even **up** with Twelve's Reaping, huh?! We could've been sending 2 little 12 year olds to the Games!" Canteen crowed, looking personally offended at the thought.

"I'm _fifteen_," Ashia pressed.

"Shhhh, the big kids are talking, little angel."

Precipity looked 100% **done**. She took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and finally decided to wrap up the ceremony.

The Peacekeepers came, having to remove Canteen from Ashia to escort them away properly for Goodbyes. Sab heard Canteen sadly whine, "Awwww, but I wanted to cuddle her moreeee", before the entourage disappeared inside the building.

Okay, so **maybe** he was an optimistic fool for hoping for some semi-competent kids this year. Sab could see _no way_ for the boy to ever get serious enough for the road ahead.

But he's not giving up on them. If he did, he'd never be able to live with himself, to leave that past behind him.

He's going to give it his all, and keep doing so, until he saves another kid.

* * *

**Ashia Henley, 15, D12**

Dayla and Julian Henley rushed into the Justice Building the second their daughter was escorted inside by the Peacekeepers.

The two quickly grabbed ahold of their little girl, hugging her to them as she sobbed. They ran their hands through their hair, over her face, whispering empty sweet nothings about how she'd be fine. That it was okay. Everything will be fine.

"Just listen to Sabbath. He's strong, and knows what he's doing," Ashia's father stated. "He'll help you, like how he's done for the District."

"Just try your best, dear," her mother rushed, quickly kissing her cheek. "We love you, so, so much. You are the best thing in our lives, Ashia."

All too soon, the Peacekeepers came in to call the goodbyes to a close. 3 minutes was all they'd had.

Quickly, her father took out Ashia's notebook from inside his tatty coat, passing it back to his daughter. The girl hugged it to her chest as she watched the door close behind her loved ones.

She knew instantly that she would never part with her notebook. She's had it for two years, and everything important is in it. It's her last article of home, of her prior life.

It will be her Token.

The girl wiped her eyes with her dress, cracking open the pages to start writing a poem.

"_Regrets collect like old friends,  
Here to relive your darkest moments,  
I can see no way, I can see no way…_

_And all of the ghouls come out to play,  
And every demon wants his pound of flesh,  
But I like to keep some things to myself…_

_I like to keep my issues drawn,  
It's always darkest before the dawn…"_

Unbeknownst to Ashia, a scrawny border collie howled, scratching at the door of the Justice Building. Minny had not been allowed to enter, since the building forbade animals from entering.

* * *

**Canteen Neverlast, 15, D12**

Canteen looked around the room in excitement. He's never seen such a huge amount of fancy stuff all in one place before. The couch was some really soft material—velvet, he'd managed to wheedle from the Peacekeeper that was stationed outside the door.

He wondered who would be first. Haley? Mitten? His useless, depressed mother that everyone insisted **wasn't** useless and depressed?

Time passed without any indication of someone coming to visit. Canteen became worried after 6 minutes passed. The Peacekeepers told him he only had 3 minutes per visit, maybe 3 or 4 visits in total.

Finally, the door opened. Canteen let out a cry of happiness as his little brother stepped into the room.

"Mitten! Oh, I **knew** you'd come!" the older boy gushed, standing up quickly from his seat. "Now, c'mere, let your big brother hug you and—"

_Slap_!

Mitten stepped forwards and bitch-slapped his big brother.

From both surprise and the blow, Canteen stumbled back, giving out a cry of pain. He stared wide-eyed down at the little boy, covering his cheek, tears streaming down his face.

"W-What was that foooor?!" he wailed.

"I didn't fucking ask you to save me, Canteen," the little boy spit venomously. "But that would've been okay, if you didn't act like a total god damn **moron** onstage. You didn't just make **you** look like a joke—me, your District partner, the Escort, and the _entire District_, too."

"But…B-But Mitten, I…" Canteen stuttered, tears still running down his face.

"So now you dishonored the District. And when you die, I'll feel guilty for the rest of my life. This **isn't** a fucking debt I can pay, Canteen—I can't do **anything** to repay you for taking my place in the Hunger Games," Mitten groused, shaking his head slowly.

"Stop talking like I'm already dead!" Canteen exclaimed, stomping his foot. The fact that he wore house slippers, and it only made a soft thud on the carpet, made the action seem even more immature.

Mitten sighed, passing a hand warily through his hair. "Bye, big bro. Rest in fucking pieces," he deadpanned, turning and quickly exiting, leaving Canteen alone in the room.

Canteen huffed, crossing his arms with a pout. "Geeze, Mitten's usually waaaay more nice than this…" he muttered.

He then blinked, a goofy grin spreading across this face after a few seconds. "He's probably acting this negative because he's worried about me!" he concluded, nodding, giving himself a literal pat on the back.

Er…Sure, Canteen. Whatever makes you feel better about getting bitch-slapped and told off by your little brother…

No one else came to visit Canteen. He was led out of the room by a pair of wary Peacekeepers, and exited the Justice Building around the same time as his District partner. He was restrained from jumping the girl and smothering her in sickening affection.

Out on the steps sat a little dog, who perked up instantly and ran over to Ashia. The Peacekeepers let her pet and pick up the dog—probably in pity. A small, soft smile came onto the little girl's face as she kneeled down to pet the dog, before picking it up and holding it closely in her arms.

Canteen whined about wanting to pet the dog, but he was kept away from Ashia. The Tributes were then shoved into some type of magical moving carriage that the Escort called a 'car', and the dog was forced to run after them.

Canteen 'ooh'd and 'ahh'd at the marvel of Capitol technology, and noted how fun it was to watch the dingy sights of the District roll by. They arrived at the rickety Train Station of the District.

"This is sooooo coooool!" Canteen exclaimed, quickly running onto the sleek train in excitement, and tripping about three times along the way. The Victor, Escort, and his District partner followed.

Canteen looked out the window of the door, along with his District partner, watching as the Train left the station. The dog from before started to run after them, but stopped at the end of the platform, unable to go farther.

Canteen heard Ashia gave a sniffle, and quickly enveloped her in a hug, cooing at her. For once, she didn't resist.


	14. Train Rides Pt 1: Driver 8

**AN**: *ignores that I was a few weeks late with this update* Part 1 of the train rides! AKA where all the awkward stuff happens. Each District has at least 1 POV around 300 words long. Some Districts have 2 to speed things along.

Next Train Rides are much more interesting. And then the Chariots are after that.

Anyways, results of the poll are fully posted in the polls section of the blog! Congrats to **Mattie** for bring in 1st place! She's been leading the results for most of the poll, actually.

New poll is also posted: _Who's your favorite Victor(s) in Lost_?

* * *

Train Rides Part 1: Driver 8

_"And the train conductor says,_

_Take a break driver 8,_

_Driver 8 take a break,_

_We can reach our destination, _

_But we're still a ways away."_

* * *

**Regina Gabriella 'Ginny' Saunders, 18, D1**

Ginny strode into the train, taking a seat next to a window. She crossed her arms and tapped one of her sandal-clad feet impatiently.

After a few silent seconds, Devon went and sat across from her. He tried to politely strike up conversation with her, but she simply gave curt answers.

"**What** is taking them so long?!" she finally exclaimed, standing up and pacing the train car, feeling restless with sitting down and doing nothing for the past hour.

"Paparazzi?" Devon supplied, giving a shrug. "They're **very** involved with the media and Capitol, after all…"

"Well, they should reschedule their interviews and photo shoots for later," Ginny grumbled.

"It's also possible that they're doing this for an icebreaker," Devon added. "You know, give us time to get to know each other."

"That's moronic," she deadpanned. "We're going to be stuck with one another for the next few days, and then for the rest of the Games. We'll learn about each other along the way, so that we don't have to waste time to do it."

The boy merely grimaced, raising his hands up in a sign for peace. "I'm not disagreeing with you, Regina—"

"Ginny," she cut in, striding back over to her previous seat and plopping down. "Call me Ginny; my friends and family do."

"Alright." He blinked at her in surprise, but gave her a somewhat shy smile. "Why the sudden change in heart…?"

"We're District partners. You're probably the Tribute I'll trust most throughout the next few weeks," she noted, giving a shrug. "Besides, continuously calling me Regina Gabriella is going to annoy the fuck out of me."

"Duly noted," he chuckled.

Their Mentors took that time to barge into the train car, and they quickly got down to business.

* * *

**Terezie 'Zie' Raquelle, 16, D2**

Zie hadn't even been able to look around the train, before Riyo decided to sit their butts down and go over some 'rules'.

"But we're going to the Hunger Games! I didn't think there **were** rules," Zie pouted, crossing her arms moodily.

"Quiet," the woman snapped. "There **are** rules. Rule number 1—"

"That you gotta have fun?" Zie's District partner guessed.

"Ooh, good one!" the girl laughed. "High five, man!"

The two high-fived, grinning broadly, whilst their Mentor groaned in the background.

"No," Victor Eshana piped up quietly. The two Tributes turned their attention to her, curious. "There's unspoken— but very important— rules for the Games that Tributes must follow…"

"Rule One—No attacking or hurting the other Tributes, including your District partners, before the Games," Riyo rushed, glaring down at the two firmly.

"Why would I hurt Zie?" Boom asked, confused. "She's fun, and nice."

Zie grinned at him, feeling very warm and…touched. "You're cool too—so I wouldn't hurt you either! Not even if stabbing you would be fun."

"And I wouldn't blow you up for fun, either," Boom added, nodding his head.

"Good. We're getting somewhere, at the very least," Riyo sighed, massaging her temples.

"Rule number 2; don't do anything against the Capitol," Eshana noted idly as she lounged on a nearby chair. "Being Rebellious…Gets you killed."

"And Rule Three—attacking or hurting any Capitolites is frowned upon, so _don't do it_," Riyo stressed, looking pointedly at Zie.

Zie frowned, making a disgruntled noise. "Taking all the fun out of everything…"

"Those are the golden rules for your time here in civilized company," Riyo stated. "Despite your lack of…_wits_, I **expect** you to follow them. Are we clear…?"

"Yup!" "Yeah, sure."

"Yes, what?" she stressed, glaring at them pointedly over her glasses.

"Yes, ma'am!" the Tributes chorused, like good little children.

"Good," Riyo sighed. "Now, I suppose you can explore your living quarters…"

Zie and Boom jumped up and rushed out of the room in-synch, whooping in excitement, while their Escort calmly gave them the tour.

* * *

**Vulca Spark, 17, D3**

"God, I still **cannot** believe you're my District partner," Vulca noted snobbishly, shooting a glare at the Asian boy that was curiously looking around the train car.

"The feeling is mutual, I assure you," Malcolm drawled, closely inspecting the doorway out of the room. "The only saving grace upon this situation is that our living quarters look to be very spacious, so I will have enough space to remove myself from your influence."

"Ugh, you're such a prick," she snorted, flipping her black hair over her shoulder. "But this train is **definitely** fit for someone like me," she added, giving an appreciative smirk at the ornate furnishings.

"Frivolous, utterly useless and annoying, aside from possible aesthetically pleasing appearance? Yes, this certainly fits your mightier-than-thou personality perfectly, Princess Spark," the boy noted with a smirk.

She huffed, flicking her hair over her shoulder once more. "Yeah, I'm a motherfucking princess—and don't forget it, nerd. I'll be back on this train in no time, to my mansion in Victor's Village."

"Absurd," he declared. "It is I who will be Victor. Your appearance will only take you so far into the Games themselves—where skill and intelligence is needed, which I have aplenty."

The two teenagers started bickering, and this is how Victor Yoshiro Varsley found them a few minutes later.

"Oh for fuck's sake," the man groaned, passing a hand over his face in irritation. Behind him, Maraquiis simply gave an amused grin.

* * *

**Lex Calder, 16, D4**

Lex stared at the blonde girl sitting across from him, who held red-rimmed eyes. She'd barely given him a watery smile when they stepped on the train, before she'd sat down and stared morosely out the window.

Despite his arrogance, Lex wasn't stupid. He **knew** that Briar was going to take away attention from him with their Mentors, and Sponsors, because of her relations to Victor Mags.

A smile played across the boy's lips. Briar had blushed when they shook hands. He'd seen her giggling about him with some of her friends, at the Training Center, a few times. She obviously found him attractive.

And he was going to use that to his advantage. He was going to butter her up. If he was close to her, nice to her, then maybe he'd get the equal Mentoring he deserved.

"You shouldn't worry your pretty little head, Briar. You've got us on your side," he spoke up casually, flashing her a charming grin.

The girl jerked her head around, blinking her wide blue eyes. "Us?" she asked curiously.

"Your aunt, Festus—and me," he said, bringing up an arm to flex. "We're District partners—gotta help each other out, yeah?"

She blushed, giving a grin. "Y-Yeah, you're right. Sorry for being out of it."

"No problem," he said smoothly. "Besides, I'd feel awful if I didn't help you out. Just count on me—I won't ever hurt you."

The girl brightened, giving him a warm smile. "You're really nice," she said with a giggle.

Perfect. Just where he wanted her.

But as he kept chatting with Briar, his gut started to clench.

It wasn't attachment; Lex **never** got attached. He just merely found it a tragedy that such a kind girl would be a stepping stone for his Victory.

* * *

**Gavin Cox, 18, D5**

The Victors were quick to board the train, beckoning for the Tributes to follow. The two gaped at how the train seemed like some type of moving mansion, spacious and opulent.

"Aw man, this is so _cool_," the tall brunette teen breathed. "It doesn't even feel like we're moving!"

"It's rather **chill** to experience, for the first time," Victor Frost noted as he opened a door and stepped inside what seemed to be a meeting room. "Now, take a seat."

"Pretty early for a strategy meeting, isn't it?" Gavin asked with a lopsided smile, but plopped himself on a seat across from Frost, nonetheless.

"We always work out Mentorships from the start," Creselia Fortuna explained dreamily. "It gives us more time to properly Mentor you for later."

"That makes sense," Cerium nodded, taking a seat next to Gavin.

"Rooster kid, you're mine," Frost quickly stated, looking at him over his dark shades.

"Cerium, I'll be your Mentor," Creselia added softly.

The two teens exchanged questioning glances as Frost stood up.

"Your Mentoring starts now," he stated bluntly.

"Woah, woah, wait a second," Gavin spoke up, making a gesture for the albino to stop. "Not that I'm not _over the moon_ about this—but isn't splitting from them a bit, I dunno, cold?"

The man stood frozen. Gavin couldn't tell because of the shades, but he was pretty sure the Victor was staring at him intensely.

"Um, it's just…Gavin and I—we get along fine," Cerium spoke up, pushing her wavy hair behind her ear. "We wouldn't mind being Mentored together. It's probably not your usual style, but…"

"No, this is actually very rare," Creselia stated, giving a pleased grin. "Frost, I think that for this once, we should collaborate. Our skillsets together will benefit them more than just Mentoring them separately…"

After a few seconds, the albino walked over, and took his previous seat.

"For this once, I won't mind," he stated, peering at the teens over his shades with his intense red eyes.

Gavin whooped and gave Cerium a side-hug, and Creselia beamed.

* * *

**Calisto Cadbury, 16, D6**

Sirona Minerals had been angry when the Peacekeepers dragged Yohan onto the train. She'd ordered them to place him on his bed in his room, and rushed over to check up on him.

Concerned and very curious, Calisto had followed.

The Victor ordered the Peacekeepers to leave, and started to check his pulse, and other vital signs.

"Using such strong tranquilizers," the woman muttered with frown. "Honestly, so unhealthy…"

"Is he gonna be okay?" Calisto asked. Yohan looked peaceful and innocent when he slept. It reminded her of her puppy.

"I'll give him something to combat the drug," the woman said. "It will still take a while for him to wake up, so why don't we talk a bit while we wait?"

Calisto chatted away about herself. By the time Yohan stirred, Calisto already felt a plan for the next few days forming.

Yohan was groggy, but soon sat up, looking around frantically. Sirona quickly soothed him, before launching question after question about his wellbeing.

"Miss Sirona—Is it normal to have memory loss from being knocked out?" the teen asked worriedly after a few minutes, in a quiet voice.

"It's a side effect of a concussion, yes—but you were sedated," the woman noted, a worried crease on her brow, before she started to dig in her medical bag again.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Calisto asked curiously, leaning forwards and staring that her District partner.

Yohan ran a hand through his messy black hair, looking frustrated. "Lily—my little sister—gave me my Token," he said, raising his left hand. It held a wristband with a wooden, carved heart.

"Do you feel like your memories are detached or fuzzy? Can you remember anything else?" Sirona asked quickly, fussing over him.

The boy looked awkward and uncomfortable. "Um…I think the Peacekeepers came in… That's about it."

"It must've been something big, for you to get sedated," Calisto noted, tilting her head to stare at her fellow Asian.

"Not knowing is…frustrating," he admitted with a grimace.

Before anyone else could speak, their Escort barged into the room, peppily stating that lunch was ready. Subdued, the group followed the green-haired woman to the dining room.

* * *

**Tomoki 'Animal' Seshat, 18, D7**

The small Asian boy was dragged onto the Train by stony Peacekeepers, his body still limp. When he awoke, a man with curly red hair was hovering over him, worried.

"Did I just get fucking sedated?" he asked Red Cymn groggily, letting out a string of curses.

"Yes," the man stated, before standing up and pressing a button on the wall.

The Victor checked the boy over, asking him questions of his health. Despite his crummy mood, Animal enjoyed the attention and worry the man displayed.

After just five minutes, someone barged into the room, and Animal remembered that Mayor Gunner was probably going to Mentor him because of the whole 'District Vandal' thing.

"Condition?" the Asian woman asked Red curtly.

"Grumpy, but healthy," the redhead replied, standing up and stepping away from the boy's bedside.

"Good. I will take it from here," the woman stated, her face a grim line.

"Damn it—I wanted Red as my Mentor," Animal groused. "He isn't a stuck-up **bitch**."

Said man looked incredibly nervous, and quickly muttered something before leaving the room. At the furious woman stalking towards his bedridden form, Animal understood why.

"Listen you little vermin, and listen well," the woman started in a low voice, towering over him. Animal felt incredibly small and weak from this display, so he bared his teeth at her in defense.

"You are still a Tribute, and I still have an obligation to save you," she stated through grit teeth. "However, as a Tribute, **you** have an obligation to follow the rules of the Game, and for your time here in the Capitol."

"Insubordination equals death in the Capitol. The President will make your life miserable if you show any **smidgen** of Rebellious behavior. Don't cause trouble, don't pick fights, don't hurt _a single person_ until you are in that damned Arena. Are we clear?"

"Crystal," Animal sneered.

"Good," she stated curtly. "Because I will not hesitate to shoot you down, like the animal you are."

* * *

**Jonah Abagnale, 15, D8**

The Train ride was really awkward.

Madras hadn't stopped crying. At all.

Victor Kitrina had taken the girl aside to comfort her and talk to her. Jonah felt relieved by that. He's had his fill of trying to comfort crying people, with his little brother Asher, since kids are assholes and pick on him constantly because of their dads.

So, yeah. Madras was getting help.

And he was getting help, too, from Woof. Woof was chill. Chatty, good-natured, easygoing. A laidback jokester. He was easy to get along with, easy to talk with and strategize with.

And also easy on the eyes, he'll admit. Woof aged well since his Victory at 15.

"This is a great partnership," Jonah blurted out, whilst the man was in mid-joke. "_You're_ cool and hot; _I'm_ cool and hot. It's perfect."

"And you genuinely like my jokes," Woof noted, clapping the boy on the shoulder with a grin. "You've already risen my high expectations; I trust you won't fuck it up."

"You left yourself open for, like, a dozen gay jokes right now," the boy noted with a lopsided grin.

"I would say 'up yours', but I'm not that much of a _dick_," the Victor snickered, before falling into peals of immature giggles.

For once, Jonah didn't feel offended, despite his hot temper and usual confrontational nature. So instead, he laughed along with his Mentor, until Meticulus stuck his head into the room to tell them that lunch was ready.

* * *

**Liseli Avere, 18, D8**

Liseli had seated herself quickly in the corner of the first room she entered, intent on having some peace to try and formulate a proper course of action. But her District partner quickly plopped himself on the same couch, and silently stared at her for a full 20 minutes.

She then stood up, and walked around the room to closely survey it. After a few seconds, Azrael repeated her actions, not conspicuous whatsoever.

She sat back down, and he quickly followed. He spent another 10 minutes staring at her with an odd, hopeful expression, before she became tired.

Liseli turned her head to lock eyes with him. "**What**?" she pressed.

The brunette quickly ducked his head, face flushed. "Nothing!"

She turned her attention back down at her hands, lips pursed. She'd rarely interacted with the boy, and yet…it seems like he's obsessed with her.

Liseli meticulously sorted through their interactions. When they were children, she'd played with him a few times—which had promptly stopped after …

But that was almost a **decade** before; and Azrael hasn't brought it up yet, so it must not be significant. Liseli kept thinking, before her brain halted to a small interaction just yesterday, in the halls of their school.

Was that all it took…? An apology of bumping into him, a pat on the shoulder, wishing him good luck for the Reaping?

She wasn't even nice about it. She was simply polite. Such a small crumb of positivity, to gain undivided attention from him…

But she was stuck with him. He'll always be staring at her. Always following her, clinging to her…

Niveus Blackburn's hunched figure entered the room, followed by the old Escort, and Liseli finally came to the realization that she would have to put her trust in these weak men.

They also needed help; but helping them would worsen her own chances.

So she'll just have to use what they can offer her, as tools, so she can come back home. Even if these tools are broken, and she would rather use her own merits.

* * *

**Clovis Essenerus, 17, D10**

The first thing Clovis Essenerus did when he was forced in a room with Mattie Wilde was stalk towards her with a feral grin.

The first thing Buddy Rancher did as Clovis' Mentor was rush forwards and get in front of the beefy boy. The Victor had his hands up in a sign of peace, despite the boy snarling at the intervention.

Clovis tried to shove his way around the man. However, Buddy matched him step for step, and held strong.

"Ya shouldn't do this. Just think of what would happen!" Buddy pleaded, still firmly placing himself between his Tribute and Mattie.

"I catch and kill the bitch. Then she's dead. **That's** what's gonna happen," Clovis answered gruffly.

"But bad things are gonna go down, if you kill your District partner before the Games!" Buddy quickly stated. "It could stop ya from winning—and ya wanna win, don't ya, Clovis?"

This caused the teen to pause.

"Bad things? Like what?" the intimidating boy asked, intrigued.

"There's a set of rules ya'll gotta follow, when you're a Tribute," Taz piped up helpfully, for the first time since he entered the room.

"Really?" Mattie asked, raising her eyebrows in-synch with Clovis. "I didn't realize the Hunger Games **had** rules."

"Yes, there's rules. Very **important** rules," Buddy stressed. "If ya don't follow these rules, the President makes **sure** that ya die inside the Arena—and neither of ya'll would want that, would ya?

The man looked between both Tributes—the two looking oddly calm and thoughtful.

"What're the rules?" Clovis groused.

"No fighting or hurting the other Tributes before you're in the Arena," their Escort suddenly spoke up, startling everyone in the room.

"The same goes for Capitolites— like your stylists and meeee." At this, the young Capitolite gave a bright grin, pointing at herself. "Oh, and no shady Rebel business. Just those three golden rules!"

A few seconds passed for this to sink in. With a snort, Clovis crossed his beefy arms. "Fine," he acquiesced.

Clovis stalked off, Buddy quickly following him—leaving Taz, Mattie, and Remu alone in the room.

* * *

**Vamiya Willows, 16, D11**

Vamiya wasted no time in flirting unabashedly with Hastiin.

The boy wasn't very responsive, though. He was very stoic, straightforward and polite with his answers to her questions, and barely spoke.

Despite all her little tricks, her District partner didn't do **anything** to reciprocate her flirting. It was a bit frustrating.

"You've never fucked a girl, have you?" she asked bluntly, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

Hastiin leaned away from her, looking disturbed. "I'm only **14**," he stated.

She gave an airy wave of her hand. "That's not **too** young. I was younger than you when I started seeing boys."

Hastiin stared at her incredulously with wide eyes. The sight was very adorable.

"How about I teach you a thing or two about girls…?" she breathed, looming closer into his personal space. "Then you'll be **experienced**. I'll make you a _man_ in no time, I promise."

"N-No thank you," Hastiin murmured, looking incredible uncomfortable. At this point, Hastiin was still sitting on the couch, but had slid over until he was pressed against the wall. Vamiya had been advancing towards him with every word she'd spoken, and was all but on his lap.

Then, the door right by their seats slid open.

"What's going on?" Homini Laridge questioned loudly as she stepped into the room, glaring at Vamiya.

Hastiin quickly jumped from his seat, extracting himself from the girl's grip. The boy swiftly stepped over to the Victor, keeping the woman between him and Vamiya. Almost like a child hiding behind his parent for protection.

"Nothing. Abso-fucking-lutely **nothing**," Vamiya huffed bitterly, standing up and jutting out her chest. "I'm going to see someone who **appreciates** my talents—Sushi Diver," she sneered.

As she strut towards the exit, Hastiin edged away, all but using the muscled Victor as a shield. "You'll regret rejecting me for **Laridge**," she hissed at him, dismissing the boy and the peeved Victor, and striding off to find the Capitolite man.

Homini Laridge obviously hates her, but she'll have the full support of her Escort. And she can't use her District partner as an ally, so he'll just have to rope another boy for it.

* * *

**Canteen Neverlast, 15, D12**

"Since the Reaping for District Twelve is so late, we will be having lunch now," Precipity Slaks stated, opening the door of a compartment, leading the procession inside.

Canteen gasped, mouth gaping, as he stared at the huge table bedecked with dishes upon dishes of food.

"This must be a dream," Ashia quietly breathed in awe next to him.

As one, the two teens rushed forwards, grabbing many items of food and quickly shoving them in their mouths.

Baskets of warm breads of many shapes and textures, platters full of magnificent mini-pies and cakes that were frosted like pieces of art…Trays bedecked of many small appetizers; eggs topped with whipped yolks, dainty sandwiches, mini-vegetables dipped in various sauces, cuts of meats and cheeses….

But soon, the two were picked up and bodily ripped away from the table. With yelps that had them spitting out debris from their prior conquests, the Tributes wiggled in the grip of their beefy Mentor.

"Woah there! Take it easy when it comes to chowing down," Sab rumbled with a chuckle.

"But there's so much fooooood," Canteen whined, after gulping down the bulging amount of delicacies in his mouth.

"If you don't slow down, you'll throw up," the man intoned wisely, carefully setting the two back down on their feet.

"Throwing up food would be an insult," he went on calmly, with a placating grin. "And wasting that food would be insulting those back home, if they all knew that you two ate so much that you threw up perfectly good food."

The two teens ducked their heads, slumping slightly in shame.

"Guess you're right," Canteen pouted, still looking at the platters longingly.

"Sorry," Ashia said, voice trembling and submissive.

Sab merely laughed, patting them both on the head. "Just don't stuff yourselves 'til you barf. The food here is very rich, and plentiful. You won't have to worry about meals or being hungry while you're in the Capitol, alright?"

With that, he gently sat them down at the table, and the duo followed his words of advice.

* * *

**Briar Indigo, 15, D4**

"Sorry we're late. You wouldn't **believe** the paparazzi," Festus drawled, as he and Mags entered the train car. His elbow was propped up on her shoulder, and he was all but attached to her hip.

Briar found the position to be overly couple-y; even a bit fake.

"It's fine," Lex spoke up quickly with a lopsided grin. "We figured as much."

Briar gave a weak grin as well, trying her hardest to appear stronger. But her aunt rushed forwards anyways, pulling the girl into a motherly hug. Briar sniffed, clinging to the familiar warmth—and despite not wanting to, tears began to stream down her face once more.

"I'm sorry," she said in a small, wavering voice, wiping her eyes furiously with her hands.

"Shhhh—You have nothing to be sorry about," Mags soothed, running a hand down her niece's hair.

"Sorry," Briar mumbled once more, before pausing. "S-Sorry for—I mean, sorry I—"

As the girl spluttered over apologies in frustration, Festus gave an odd bark of laughter, reminding her that she wasn't alone in the train car.

"Hey, at least it's cute," Lex noted benignly with an attractive grin. Briar—who was already pink in the face—turned crimson.

Festus cleared his throat sharply, striding quickly towards at the opposite end of the room. It almost seemed like he was glaring at Lex. "We should get to talking strategy."

Briar stood there, looking between both Festus and Mags, torn on what she wanted to do.

She felt like she wanted to talk in private with her aunt, to get more comfort. She knew that once they arrived at the Capitol, she wouldn't be able to get that chance to do so properly; they'd be too busy. But she **also** knew that the responsible thing to do would be to follow Festus, to talk over strategy and formulate a plan…

"Maybe she just wants some time to cry it out," Lex told Festus casually. "And, hey, she could collect the tears to make her own little reminder of home."

Briar felt like that was sarcastic— but she probably just couldn't hear the proper inflection in his words. The nuances of certain people's speaking patterns would sometimes get lost on her, because of her bad ear.

Festus scowled at the boy. "Stop tryin' to pressure her. And last time I checked, **I** was the Mentor, not you," he stated irately, crossing his arms.

"But its the **Tributes** that should be getting preferential treatment," Lex smirked, lifting his chin with an air of confidence. "Oh, and I'm not trying to pressure her. Briar is a strong, independent girl," Lex added, shooting her a grin that made her stomach do a back flip.

"Boys, please don't start bickering," Mags interjected, brow furrowed slightly and giving a pointed look at Festus.

"Not bickerin'," Festus grumbled, giving a frown that showed his pointed teeth.

"That's a first," Lex drawled. Okay, Briar was **sure** that he said that sarcastically, this time.

"Oi, don't talk to me like that; show some damn respect for your betters, ya brawler brat!" Festus exclaimed, jabbing a finger at the boy.

"I'm taller—"

"By half an inch!"

"—better built, and better looking," Lex finished, passing a hand through his hair, then flexing a bicep.

"Oh, here we go again…!" Festus said in dramatic exasperation, rolling his eyes. "Always your damn looks, with you! It's a damn miracle that ya like fightin' more than yourself, or else you'd stand in front of the bathroom's mirrors the entire day!" he cried, throwing his arms up in the air.

Briar watched the two shoot comments back and forth, following them like it was a volleyball match. Even the Escort, when she stepped into the compartment wearing a new blonde wig, stopped to watch them at it.

"Festus, can you **please** stop yelling at him? This isn't accomplishing anything…" Mags finally interjected with a frown of concern, after the two males started to criticize the other's hair.

"And weren't we going to start strategizing?" Briar asked.

"If we're all on board, I think we should prioritize that," Mags agreed swiftly. "You both need to establish your strategies, as well as Mentoring, so that we can have adequate time to prepare you."

Festus finally acquiesced, and the group was led by Gucci to the dining room.

"Alright, first thing's first—allies," the male Victor started, clasping his hands on the table. "You've both Trained, and are proficient in a specialized area of combat, so you'd both would easily get into the Career alliance."

"Naturally," Lex agreed with a smirk.

Briar, however, looked down and fidgeted with her ring in contemplation. "How do you know…If joining the Careers is right or not?"

"Is this a morals thing, or a strategy thing?" Festus asked. "'Cuz I ain't gettin' into _feelings_ with you, Brat. Not my specialty."

"When it comes to alliances—and other decisions in the Games—it's often the best to follow your own instincts," Mags counseled calmly. "Trust—trust in both **yourself** and your allies—can play a huge role with your time in the Arena."

Briar nodded slowly. That made sense…

"I just…No offense, Lex, but I don't want to hunt down people, to murder them in cold blood. I'd be forced to do that, in the Career alliance," Briar spoke. "I only Trained to defend myself, and because I was good at archery, not to…"

The girl clenched her hands. She looked up, feeling determination well up within her. "I don't want to join the Careers," she stated firmly, to the table at large. "I don't care if it's the strongest alliance, and it'd make my chances better—I **won't** join them."

The table was silent. Gucci's eyebrows disappeared into her wig. Mags was smiling softly at her. Festus looked pained, and thunderstruck.

Briar turned to look at Lex; he had a blank expression on his face, devoid of emotion.

"That doesn't mean I want to be your enemy, though, Lex," she added. "We're still District partners, right? If you need anything, I'll help; and I won't betray you by killing you in the Arena..."

She gave him a tentative smile. After a few seconds, he gave her a small smirk in return. "Yeah, sure. I'm not going to hate you for not joining up in the Careers, or anything."

The girl beamed, feeling relieved that she didn't turn the boy against her. "Yeah! And there's always a Careers split, so we could join up later, right?"

"Right," he nodded, plastering a grin on his face that quickly slid off, once he turned to address Festus. "So, what does this mean, when it comes to Mentoring?"

"Well, **usually** when Tributes split off to different alliances or have different strategies, they want private Mentoring one-on-one," Festus admitted, tapping his scruffy cheek. "But if Tributes are on good terms with each other, they allow to be Mentored together."

"If you're Mentored together, you get both of our skill sets," Mags added, with a smile. "Festus and I—we do better in a collaborative effort, as well."

"I wouldn't mind either way. Whatever Briar's comfortable with is fine," Lex noted casually, shooting a wink at her.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, giving a giggle. "Alright then! Both please," she grinned at her Mentors. "It'd be nice having you both support me, Aunt Mags, Uncle Festus."

"Uncle?!" Gucci screeched, giving a titter. Festus gave a displeased grimace, edging away from the woman—which only caused her to giggle more furiously, since Festus was leaning into Mags.

"Well, now that the strategy talk is over, I think I'll go to my room," Lex drawled, standing up swiftly. "Briar, want to join me…?" he said, shooting her a lopsided grin.

Briar felt her heart stutter, and her face heat up by the accidental implications.

Festus furiously exclaimed, "Like hell you'll get her to join you!" at the same time Gucci shrieked, "**I'll** join you, Lex!"

"Um, I'm just…Gonna talk to Aunt Mags!" Briar squeaked in mortification, standing up and rushing over to her aunt, tugging the woman the opposite way of the bedrooms. "S-See you later!"

Her aunt's amused chuckling didn't help matters at all.

* * *

**Devon Mahone, 18, D1**

Devon was surprised when Mediah dragged him aside to speak to him in private, despite **knowing** that this would happen.

After they'd entered the train—which had taken them a while because of paparazzi, as he had guessed correctly—everyone sat down to talk strategy. Mediah walked them through the basics of things: they'd be Mentored together to gain the skill sets of both Victors, but their main Mentor had the right to most of their Tribute's business.

Devon is a composed guy, but a private meeting with the man who created the Careers and the Academy was just a **bit** nerve-wracking. Especially considering that Devon never liked other people picking up his mental, inner weaknesses…

"When are you going to find your own reasons to fight?" Mediah asked him calmly, surveying him intensely from his perch on the chair in Devon's room.

Devon stared, taking a sharp breath. Right to the heart of the manner, of Devon's doubts…

"What do you mean?" the brunette asked, voice wavering slightly.

Mediah gave him a pointed look. "Your mother is, quite frankly, a manipulative bitch. She's the main reason for your Training. And because of this, you ended up becoming our best male trainee in the Academy."

"So, I'll ask again, Devon: when are you going to find your own reasons to fight?"

Devon staid silent, his mouth drawn to a tight line. He didn't take kindly to his Mentor's criticism of both his mother and himself, and was too insecure to reflect upon the points that were made.

"Devon, I'm just here to help you in any way I can," the Victor sighed, passing a hand through his messy hair. "False reasoning and thoughts—those can get you killed, if you're not careful. You need to be fully focused on something for **yourself**—on what **you** want. With that, you'll find strength and resolution."

"For you, it was glory," the teen stated slowly, forcing himself to play along with his Mentor. "But **you** always knew what you wanted, from the start."

"Of course," Mediah stated, tapping his fingers on his scruffy cheek. "But even if you love your mother dearly, your relationship—it's not very healthy. Counterproductive, too; she dictates your personality and life to almost a T.

"What I want—and what _you need_—is to know who the **real** Devon is. The boy that's not wrapped up in mommy and daddy issues."

Devon ripped his gaze away from his Mentor's intense look, and stared down at his hands. They were trembling faintly. He fisted them, forcing them to stop moving, but it only made the trembling worse.

"What if…" the boy rasped, slowly bringing up his gaze to meet Mediah's. "There **is** no real me?"

The man sighed, passing a hand through his hair tiredly. "I'm not a god damn philosopher like Creselia; we could spend **hours** bouncing this issue back and forth. But you **do** have a 'real' you; there's an air of pure _you_ behind your training at the Academy."

Mediah lifted his pointer finger. "You enjoyed Training with your friends. You didn't train so well for power or glory—but for your connections to others," he started, then added another finger. "You were thoughtful, compared to most of the other trainees. You showed your calm disposition, and focused on the tasks needed to be done."

Mediah lifted a third finger. "And your girlfriend."

Devon blinked in confusion, while Mediah gave a knowing grin. "That fondness, that love—it's not fabricated. It overwhelms you, makes you glow. She Trained simply to be by your side, and you gave her your dedication in turn."

"On a similar note—which Goodbye impacted you the most?" the man asked casually, a calculating look in his eyes. "Your family, your friends, or your girlfriend…?"

"Esmeralda's, definitely," Devon admitted. When she admitted she was pregnant, it had caused his entire world to flip upside down.

"When you come back, are you going to take it farther with her…?" Mediah queried, a smirk on his lips.

"We're going to get married, and start a family," the boy admitted readily, a fond smile on his face, a glow in his chest.

The Victor gave a pleased chuckle. "Then, I think I know what your reason is…"

* * *

**Malcolm Fritz, 17, D3**

"Alright, you bickering little shits—Strategy time," Victor Yoshiro Varsley said, giving a sharp clap of his hands.

Malcolm and Vulca paused in their previous argument, turning their attention to the short man. Victor Yoshiro had plopped himself at a table that seated 4 people, at the side of the room, an arm casually draped behind his chair. Their Escort easily slid himself next to the man easily, not phased whatsoever.

"Stop standing there, and sit your butts down," the Victor ordered. He gave them a pointed look, jerking his head over to the elegantly carved table.

"No. Way. In Hell!" Vulca screeched, each word punctuated with an exaggerated shake of her head. "I'm not going to sit down and chat with **this** argumentative tool!" she stated, jabbing a manicured nail at her District partner, a sneer of distaste on her pug-like face.

"I **also** find the thought of sitting down to converse with my District partner—especially with something as **vital** as strategy—to be distasteful," Malcolm started, crossing his arms. "Working in tandem with someone as frivolous as Spark is detrimental to my plans and my IQ. I also fear that her screeching will damage both my brain cells and my hearing."

"**Whining** doesn't win the Hunger Games," the Victor snarled in irritation. "So shut up and sit. **Down**."

Vulca gave a huff, flipping her hair over her shoulder, flouncing over to the table. She stood behind a chair and tapped her foot, as if waiting for something.

"I told you to sit down, princess," Victor Yoshiro drawled.

The girl gave a disdainful sniff, shoving her nose in the air. "I can't sit down, when my chair isn't ready for me," she stated, voice clipped.

"Oh for fuck's sake—"

However, before the Victor could go into a rant, the man besides him stood up. "Of course. It's the proper thing to do," Maraquiis Harmajav said soothingly, giving a disarming grin.

The Capitolite went over to Vulca's chair, pulling it back for her. With a pleased smirk, the girl thanked him primly, before sitting down delicately.

"Would you like your chair pulled back as well, Malcolm?" Maraquiis asked with a grin, an amused twinkle in his eyes, as he looked over at the boy that had not moved an inch to claim the last seat at the table.

"I still do not see the merits of working through strategy with Vulca Spark," Malcolm stated haughtily, crossing his arms. "We are the antithesis of the other, and will never collaborate, much less ally with one another."

"For once, I agree with you," Vulca scoffed, giving an arrogant flip of her hair. "One time, we were partners for a project in Government class. We were suspended for 3 days, and banned from 7 different stores in the District."

"**Look**, I'm not asking you to ally; God knows **that** would end in disaster," Yoshiro Varsley deadpanned. "I'm **asking** you to tolerate each other's presence, and sit down to work out time slots for Mentoring."

"Pray tell, why should I follow your orders?" Malcolm prodded. He was never one that liked taking orders, listen to authority, or go down without a fight.

"I've got experience in the Hunger Games, I'm a great strategist, I'm the one to gain and organize your Sponsors, and I'll be the one that sends you Sponsorship gifts when you're in the Arena. It's better to work with me than pissing me off—which you've started off doing already, so sit your ass down so we can get this over with already!"

The Victor slammed his palm down against the table with a snarl on his face. Maraquiis Harmajav stood up and quickly pushed him back down in his seat.

"Look, once we're done, you're both free to explore the train and to avoid each other until strictly necessary. But having a good relationship with Yoshiro is vital. Please, let's just sit down right now," Maraquiis said, ever the peacemaker.

With a huff, Malcolm strode over with his long legs, and plopped himself down in his seat.

"I suppose it's for the best," Malcolm acquiesced begrudgingly, before looking to Yoshiro. "For a man that's said to be a genius, I find that you do not act like one."

"Talking like you've shoved textbooks and thesauruses down every orifice doesn't mean you're a genius," the man snarked. "It just makes you sound like a pretentious asshole."

At Vulca's giggle, he added, "And acting like a princess doesn't make you royalty." This promptly shut her up.

With both Tributes glaring at him, Yoshiro smirked. "Now then, let's get this shit over with…"

* * *

**Mattie Wilde, 17, D10**

Mattie stared at the door that Clovis has stalked through, Victor Buddy on his heels. Finally, the asshole was gone—but now she was stuck with Taz and the bubbly Escort. The more experienced Victor abandoned them, having to deal with Clovis.

She felt bad for Buddy Rancher, just a bit. He was a nice guy, and it took him a while to get back a Victor. And the year he's got someone else to work with, the two Tributes are literally at each other's throats.

But she was **still** pissed off. She's stuck in a really shitty situation.

"Well, now that the scary Clovis is gone, I guess we can talk about strategy without any problems, huh?" Taz asked cheerfully, breaking the awkward silence, bouncing up and down like a kid.

Which he sort of was, Mattie noted. He was a young Victor—younger than both her and Clovis. He was also really short, enthusiastic, and had the energy of a 5 year old.

The boy bounded over to a seat on the couch with a giggle, bouncing up and down on it. "C'mon, Mattie!" he crowed, patting the spot next to him, beaming.

God damn it, that was **cute**.

But cute rarely won you the Hunger Games.

With a face like that of a grumpy cat, Mattie crossed her arms moodily and dropped into the seat next to the enthusiastic boy.

"I'll go get you some snacks!" The Escort suddenly exclaimed, clapping her hands and giggling happily. "We have the **best** h'ordeuvres— they're heavenly!"

"Please and thank you!" Taz sing-songed, kicking his legs back and forth, a wide grin on his face.

"Not sure what a whore-devore is, but, sure. S'long as they're fuckin' tasty, I don't really give a shit," Mattie noted gruffly.

"Alright then—two platters of h'ordeuvres, coming right up!" the Capitolite cheered, bolting out of the room and towards what Mattie presumed was the kitchen. Or something.

Clovis didn't exactly let her get a good look around the Train. The second they stepped into the first Train car, he was already getting in her face.

"I know I'm new at this, but I'm gonna try my very best," Taz started, voice oddly soft. "My experiences—they're fresh in my mind, y'know? So, if you wanna know what to expect in the next few days, well…I've got **that**, at least," he shrugged, a lopsided grin on his face.

Well damn, that was really…emotional. Mattie actually felt bad—kid really **was** lost on what to do.

But he **does** know what to expect, during her time at the Capitol. It's been almost 2 decades since Victor Buddy's been through all that prep stuff—and he went through it all when the Games were still just beginning.

Since the 3rd Hunger Games, they've added the Chariot Rides and Sponsorships. They've also changed the entire format of the Interviews, Scoring, and added restrictions for Tokens.

Besides, Mattie was good at strategy, and she didn't mind taking risks. The times in which she would need the Mentorship the most was her time in the Capitol. In the Arena, she wouldn't have her Mentor there to guide her. She'd have to do things on her own merits, use her own plans.

And that's where she'll shine, when she can use her talents. But until then, she needed to get through all the bullshit in the Capitol.

Mattie gave the fresh-faced Victor a small grin. "Well, it's not like yer gonna be able to go into the fuckin' Arena with me, or anythin'. I reckon you walkin' me through the stuff that's gonna happen in the next few days is gonna be just fine."

The smile Taz gave her was as bright as the sun. "Great!" he exclaimed.

The Escort came in just then, having a few people dressed in robes and carrying trays behind her. Mattie was coarse and unlikeable once more, but found herself hiding a fond smile at her Mentor's antics.


	15. Train Rides Pt 2: Crazy Train

**AN**: Why must school cram multiple projects the last weeks of school? As if final exams weren't enough to worry about :/

These Train Rides are longer, and have more interesting stuff/plot. So yeah. Hope you guys like em.

(Also, please don't forget that there's a poll...And a BLOG. *gasp!*)

* * *

Train Rides pt 2: Crazy Train

"_Mental wounds not healing,  
Who and what's to blame?  
I'm goin' off the rails, _

_On a crazy train."_

* * *

**Azrael Rachaye, 17, D9**

Azrael wouldn't be surprised if Liseli Avere wanted nothing to do with him, especially after she caught him staring at her multiple times.

But thankfully, she didn't crush his hopes when she agreed to sit down to talk strategy through with their Mentor—together

She sat down calmly at the table next to him, looking very professional. This contrasted heavily with the tired visage of Niveus Blackburn, who looked ready to either collapse in total exhaustion, or drown himself in a bottle of gin.

But the man did neither, since he had the old Escort sitting next to him— looking like the Capitolite was the only reason the Victor wasn't going to get completely smashed and wallow in a corner of his bedroom.

"Alright, let's get started," the Victor sighed, passing a hand through his lank, greasy hair. "Essentially, you can either be Mentored together, or apart."

"What are the differences—other than the obvious?" Liseli asked primly.

"Together, I can focus on you two as a group. My attention won't be split between two sides, so you'll get more time with me. All your Sponsorship requests will be pooled together," the man ticked off monotonously, as if he's said this explanation multiple times.

Considering that it's been a decade and the man hasn't been able to produce another Victor, that's most likely the case.

"You two would work together, know everything about each other. You'd work in a similar strategy, know each other's strength and weaknesses, etcetera," Victor Niveus gave a tired wave of his bony hand. "Nothing important is a secret. It's all or nothing."

"So, conversely…" Liseli started, looking contemplative. "If you were to Mentor us separately, the inverse would be true."

"Yes," Niveus nodded.

"Niveus' attention will be split coaching between the two of you. The same goes for my efforts and attentions as well," the Escort noted, voice level.

"Well, um, I don't really have anything to hide. Not really," Azrael murmured, giving an awkward shrug.

"So, if you were distressed or had any form of psychological issues, you wouldn't hesitate to inform us of them?" the old man pressed, leaning forwards and giving a piercing gaze that made Azrael feel like his mind was cracked open for all to see.

"I-I," the boy stuttered, feeling pressured. "N-No—I mean, um, maybe?" he asked, looking unsure. At Liseli's raised eyebrow and curious look, he backpedalled.

"I mean, I wouldn't mind. That is, with my allies. Or even you, Liseli—we're District partners, right? And I guess District partners tell each other things, maybe?" he looked around at the table, feeling frenzied, like a cornered animal. "T-There's nothing much for me to tell though, I swear! I…I'm not…"

Azrael felt a burning in the back of his eyes, a constricting in his chest, and a rising need to start hyperventilating. All he wanted was to be accepted, to show that there really wasn't anything wrong with him beneath the stigmata and trauma…

The Escort reached one of his tanned hands forwards, and Azrael violently flinched back. The white-haired man drew back with a regretful, saddened look on his face.

"I'm sorry for bringing up any bad memories or connotations, my boy," the old man spoke softly. "But if you feel the need to speak about it, you can always come to me or Niveus. In fact, I am a former psychiatrist…"

Liseli looked vaguely interested at the mention of the Capitol man's old profession, but not surprised whatsoever. She turned her head, catching him staring at her once more. Giving a sheepish grimace, Azrael turned back towards his Mentor.

"I wouldn't mind being Mentored together. L-Liseli's nice," he muttered, fidgeting with the sleeves of his long-sleeved white shirt.

"Liseli…?" the Victor asked, wanting to hear her thoughts. All the men turned to look at her curiously.

She gave a small, mysterious grin. "Yes, that's fine. I have nothing to hide. And I feel…like I could collaborate with Azrael," she stated, before giving a charming smile at Niveus. "Besides, it would be easier on you if you could Mentor us both at once, instead of having the added weight of choosing sides."

The tired man looked stunned; Azrael felt so as well.

Without thinking, the boy threw his arms around the girl. He felt her stiffen in his hold, but eventually she began to tentatively pat the top of his head as he sniffled, barely keeping himself from bursting out into hysterical tears.

"Geeze, I only said I was willing to be Mentored together with you…" she muttered, not yielding into the affection and returning his hug. "Also, can you stop nuzzling my neck? I will literally punch you if you don't stop."

The brunette pulled back with a nervous, high-strung laugh. "P-Please don't punch me. I'd punch back on reflex."

"…At least you're not completely worthless," she noted with a raised eyebrow as she appraised him.

The boy beamed, deciding to take that as a compliment. With her, he felt his mental wounds healing—just a little bit.

* * *

**Flynn Caltier, 16, D7**

Since everyone was dealing with Animal, Flynn was left alone. She curiously wandered the Train, somehow managing to find herself in some type of dining room. Tentatively, she started to eat some …_somethings_, that were set on platters.

That's how Red Cymn and the Capitolite man found her—wolfing down one of those weird desserts, cheeks bulging like a chipmunk.

"I see you've found the éclairs," the Escort noted, a kind grin on his face as Flynn turned scarlet in embarrassment.

"And I see that you've both finally found me, after abandoning me," she deadpanned after swallowing the éclair. At Nolan's sheepish look and Red's flushed face, she apologized quietly. "Sorry, I'm not exactly in the greatest mood…"

"Understandable," the Victor coughed. "But, um, I suggest you not gorge on the Capitol foods just yet. They're very rich, and can upset your stomach…"

She tilted her head, considering the man's advice. He was a medic—best in the District—and has probably been through similar processes with his past Tributes. "That sounds reasonable," she said with a nod.

The next few minutes was filled with a halting discussion of Flynn's possible plans. She wasn't much for speaking, and Red was pacifistic and soft-spoken, so it could barely be called a discussion; most of the talking came from the Escort.

Soon after, Mayor Gunner entered the room with Animal. The woman was all but frog-marching the boy forwards, an iron grip on the scruff of his clothing.

Lunch came and went, and Lehvant Gunner was quick to steer Animal to some other part of the train before Flynn could get a word in edge-wise. Before long, it was time to watch the recaps of the Reapings.

Frustrated, Flynn left to find Animal, entering a room where she heard her District partner's snarling. Once she stepped into his line of vision, the boy seemed to calm down, even throwing a smile at her.

"Well well well—so you came personally to be in my presence, huh?" the Asian boy chuckled, looking pleased as he appraised her. Flynn had to fight down a shiver of revulsion.

"_Keep your mouth in check. You have to repay him. Don't fuck this up again, Flynn_," she chanted in her mind.

"Can I have a word with him?" Flynn asked quietly to the adults in the room, forcing herself not to fidget. At the adult's confused looks and static positions, she coughed, "Um, **alone**."

Animal was smirking. He sauntered over to her, snaking an arm around her shoulders—causing the girl to jolt.

"I haven't had time to properly talk to my dear District partner," he said in an oily voice to the stern Victor, with fake innocence. "How are we supposed to figure out— ahem— _strategy_, if you're always keeping tight security on me…?"

"Our discussion won't take more than five minutes," Flynn stated, forcing a smile onto her face.

The Escort seemed to nod, looking like he understood what the quiet girl was trying to do. Lehvant Gunner, however, still looked suspicious, but finally gave a nod.

"If he does anything inappropriate, you have my permission to kick him in the balls—if he even has any," the woman stated. Animal flinched slightly, and Capitolite gave a sympathetic grimace.

"I'll be careful," the girl stated, giving a nod of thanks. The adults left the room, and Flynn steeled herself for what was to come next.

Of course, Animal had to start on a spiel before she had a chance to speak, complaining in detail about Lehvant Gunner.

"And then, of course, the bitch keeps me away from my cute District partner. How am I supposed to whoo girls if she's always such a cockblock?" the young-looking boy huffed, before giving Flynn a wolfish smirk and inching closer towards her.

"So, what did you want to talk **alone** about?" he purred, making her skin crawl. "I mean, I always have girls hanging off me, so I'm not very surprised, but—" he began to drawl, faking a status of ladies man, before Flynn cut him off.

"Can you please just shut up?" she asked tiredly, wincing at his affronted expression. "Look…You're just making it hard for me to speak with you properly," she awkwardly stated, rubbing her upper arm.

"Seriously, you only just wanted to **talk**?" he asked, in a near whine. "If we're not talking strategy or you're not up for making out, then I can't find this to be fucking useful at **all**."

"Well, if you don't want me to **thank you** for _saving one of my best friend's life by Volunteering_, then I won't!" she seethed, her frustration finally boiling over. "I know that it wasn't even your intention, but I'm still grateful, you jackass!"

Flynn paused, her face burning, realizing what she's just done.

Whoops.

"_Way to go, Flynn. Good job of screwing up something as simple as saying thank you. Kiss your District partner's good graces goodbye_," she snarked in her mind.

Animal simply looked baffled. "You cursed me out. And spoke more than two sentences. And you're…thanking me?" The last point seemed to confuse the Asian the most.

At that moment, it dawned on Flynn that maybe the guy vandalized Seven just to get recognition. Maybe he's had little positive reinforcement in his life, if someone as frail, young, and innocent-looking as Animal has turned out to be so…**bad**.

But then the Asian got a pleased, capricious gleam in his eyes.

"**Well**, I guess it'll only be **right** if you pay me back **somehow** for saving your friend, eh…?" he smirked, before looking down at his nails casually. "I mean, District partners usually ally when worst comes to worst, but it's never **concrete**, unless they're both **very** close…"

Flynn was silent, before giving a strained sigh. He's going to keep this over her head, now, unless she tries some damage control.

"I suppose… If we can't find anyone else to ally with, it would only be logical if we team up," she acquiesced warily.

Animal gave a pleased, sharp grin—looking like a cat having caught a canary. Flynn distinctly felt like she just made a deal with a demon.

* * *

**Yohan Freesia, 16, D6**

It was frustrating, being so off-kilter.

First, getting Reaped. Then, getting knocked out by the Peacekeepers. And finally, forgetting the exact reason on **why** he was sedated by the Peacekeepers.

How very typical, he noted darkly. The hero gaining amnesia, like in all those old pre-Dark Days comic books that he's pilfered from the Registry in District Six.

He wasn't Superman or Spiderman, capable of traversing bullshittery with superpowers. He was going into a fight to the death, where he could get his scrawny posterior _killed_.

Yohan chewed on his steak viciously. No, he **can't** delve into those type of thoughts. He needed to at least remember how capable he is. He'll lay low, plan meticulously, and strike from the shadows—as per usual.

"Be careful to not bite your tongue," Sirona Minerals warned him, after Yohan once more delved into his steak like a wolf.

"Need the food," he muttered around his food. He forcefully swallowed the piece of meat, bringing up his plate to shovel mashed potatoes into his mouth.

"Yeah, he **is** pretty scrawny," their Escort noted offhandedly, tapping her chin in contemplation. "But doesn't that go for most Asians?"

"Well, I'd like to think that I'm in good shape!" Calisto piped up, trying to cut through the tension that descended the table with humor, to little avail.

"Calisto's athletic and middle class. I'm poor and malnourishedo the math," Yohan added bluntly, after chugging a glass of red punch. Ignoring the stricken and pitying looks he was receiving from the women, he reached out to pile more vegetables and meats onto his plate.

"Yohan, you'll throw the food back up if you keep stuffing yourself!" Victor Sirona chided him, smacking his hand away with a wooden spoon that had laid in a nearby dish of pasta.

"But won't meat and vegetables help me bulk up?" he asked curiously. "Fresh foods and meat are very hard to come by, in the slums, so I haven't had a particularly balanced diet."

He didn't mention that food in **general** was hard to come by, because that should be self explanatory.

The woman seemed to soften at the words. "Oh, alright. You can have seconds—but!" she exclaimed, once Yohan started to pile some type of meat on his plate. "Don't overdo it. By dessert, you should either be full, or have just enough room for a slice of something."

Yohan shrugged nonchalantly. "You're the professional."

After the dessert—large ice cream sundaes topped with every sweet topping imaginable—all of them were properly stuffed. Yohan felt like he was on the edge of bliss, and hurling.

Now that the delectable lunch was over, it was time for some serious talk about strategy.

"You can **totally** Mentor us together!" Calisto piped up with a grin. Yohan merely put a pleasant grin on his face as his answer.

Sirona looked relieved at Calisto's answer, the stress in her shoulders leaking out. "Oh, good. That certainly makes things easier…"

"Well, neither of us has **anything** to hide, so Mentoring us together is the best option," Yohan noted casually, giving a shady smile and chuckle.

The boy sat back, listening to his District partner babble on about her skills and plans. She was definitely a bit reckless and restless, but also had a rather surprising amount of street smarts.

She was spunky—and if Yohan hadn't known that she was teetering on the edge of middle-class, he would have thought she was a fellow slum-slicker.

After a few minutes, she finally sputtered down; instead, she took to eating a Cadbury chocolate bunny Tessa Trivault had given her. Apparently, Cadbury was a popular Capitol chocolate brand—which Calisto had no idea about, until then.

Sirona turned to the boy, with a kind smile on her face, and asked him, "What about you, Yohan?"

Giving an amused lopsided grin, Yohan began to carefully pick his words, and weave a web of half-truths.

"Hm, well, I'm not very physically inclined. But having dead parents has taught me to be resourceful," he said, holding back an amused chuckle at the horrified looks he gained from his nonchalant admittance.

"Oh, and I am very…**adept**, you could say…at stealth," he noted, giving a dark little grin. With a chuckle, he added, "I've become very good at stealth and hiding, from being bullied. These skills have also helped me eventually, ah, **deal** with bullies, as well…"

Building upon the horror, Yohan gave a disarming shrug of his shoulders, giving a bright toothy smile. "So, I think I can **theoretically** be good at hiding away during the Games. Anything else, though…Well, I suppose it would be nice to see my parents again."

The table was dead silent. Then, his District partner suddenly threw herself at him, hugging him tightly.

"That's **awful**!" she cried out. "I mean, I thought you were just a really shady, creepy guy—but with all the stuff that's happened to you, it makes total sense! No **wonder** you're so socially stunted..."

Yohan awkwardly sputtered, his face reddening at the fact that he could feel certain _soft_ parts of Calisto pressing against him…

At the pitying, teary-eyed looks from his Mentor and Escort, Yohan figured that he did his job of playing the 'poor orphan boy' a little **too** well.

* * *

**Isko 'Boom' Barrius, 18, D2**

Isko and his District partner Zie had decided to snoop around the Train between when they ate lunch and dinner.

The Train was new to them both, and it excited their easily amused minds. Boom had noted all objects that could be used to build makeshift bombs or explosives, and Zie had picked up an interesting array of pointed items that could be used as shanks.

Of course, they were followed by a fuming, stomping Riyo. Their Escort—who was even more taller and intimidating than Boom's mom—also kept close tabs on them, and seemed to constantly fix any misplaced or overturned items in the rooms that Boom and Zie plowed through.

The only person that didn't seem to care about the Tribute's destructive natures was Eshana. She didn't care about much in general, but Boom could tell that she was a nice person anyways.

He was lucky and happy that Eshana was his Mentor. Riyo was super smart, but she was didn't like his explosives or Zie's stabby prowess, cuz they were too chaotic, and stuff.

Boom's wondered why he hasn't interacted with Zie much before, back in Two, besides from occasionally crossing paths in the Tribute Academy. Zie was cool. He couldn't have asked for a better District partner, honestly.

After a few minutes of a wild goose chase—the light background music of the Train somehow changing into a jaunty saxophone number that fit the mood—Boom and Zie were corralled into the living room. There, Eshana was sitting in front of the television.

"The Reapings are about to start," the messy-haired woman stated. Lousc Edenshaw took the distraction to pick up both Tributes by the scruffs of their necks and depositing them in seats next to Eshama.

Riyo gave a tired sigh, sitting down primly in another couch. "Pay attention to your fellow Careers, and any other Tributes that look to be threats."

District One had a critical, dark-haired girl that seemed all business, and tall, charming boy that was all smiles.

"Devon looks nice," Boom noted, liking how the One boy smiled a lot, glancing over at the Victors to see their reactions.

"Regina Gabriella looks competent," Riyo noted, relieved.

"She looks like a killjoy," Zie pouted.

"She will most likely be the only other female in your alliance—so I **suggest** you get along with her," the bespectacled woman told the girl through grit teeth.

"Hey, look—it's us!" Boom exclaimed, pointing at the screen where their figures were seen Volunteering, jumping up and down in his seat."Look, Zie!"

"It is!" the girl beamed, wriggling in her seat. "And we look totally **awesome**! Hell yeah!"

The two teens high-fived each other, wearing identically wide grins, and Riyo facepalmed.

District Three passed. Boom felt confused, when he heard the snobby-looking girl say that she wanted to make Three a Career District, when she didn't look to be very strong at all.

Riyo smirked in amusement. "Yoshiro's certainly going to have a lot on his hands, because of those two…Poor bastard."

District Four played on the screen. Everyone in the room perked up when Lex Calder Volunteered.

"Looks like Festus's Training methods are working," Eshana noted, her usually dull voice sounding proud as she stared fondly at the wavy-haired Victor on the screen.

"Lex looks strong for his age," Boom noted with a bright grin at his Mentor, feeling excited. These people looked like they would make great allies already!

Then Briar Indigo was Reaped, and it was revealed that she was the niece of Victor Mags.

"Woah! Plot twist!" crowed Zie, vaulting up from her seat to point dramatically at the screen. She twisted the top half of her body around to shoot an inquisitive look at her Mentor. "D'ya think she'll be joining the Career alliance with us?"

"It's a possibility," the Asian woman noted, pushing up her glasses with a finger, her eyes staring critically at the screen.

The rest of the Reapings passed. A surprising amount of Tributes looked strong and were memorable—especially from the poorer Districts.

Beside him, Zie was shaking from excitement. Giving a throaty, low giggle, she whispered, "The Games are gonna be so **fun**."

"I know!" Boom exclaimed, giving a loud, carefree laugh. "I wonder how strong they'll be against my weapons? Either was, it's gonna be a bang!"

Giving a cackle, Zie jumped up and started to do a little jig. Boom stood up and danced along with her, eventually dipping down to pick the girl up and placing her on his broad shoulders, zooming around the room as she laughed merrily.

Yup, the Hunger Games was going to be loads of fun!

* * *

**Cerium Morgan, 16, D5**

"Quickly, quickly! The Reapings are about to start!" Chartreuse Lefleur tittered frantically, as she entered one of the Train's rooms, turning on a large television.

"You really need to," Victor Frost started, before shooting a glance over his sunglasses at the Escort, "_chill_. Even if we missed the first few Districts, they replay the Reapings constantly."

"Personally, I find it better to watch the plain, starting Reaping broadcasts," Victor Creselia noted lightly as she plopped down on a loveseat.

Cerium slowly sat down next to her Mentor. Gavin ran—literally—to the couch and flopped onto it. With his gangly length, he took up most of it, but Frost still managed to seat himself on the opposite end.

The mood dropped, turning tense when the ceremony started. Districts One and Two—the rich Districts who Trained for the Hunger Games, and dubbed themselves as the 'Careers'—looked strong.

The One girl was all business, holding a critical air about her, and her District partner was tall, well-built, and looked like he was hiding something under his charming façade. The Two girl held a wild countenance, insanity in her eyes, who truly seemed to enjoy stabbing people. The Two boy was friendly and oblivious, but was incredibly large and beefy, who seemed to have a penchant for explosives.

At least the boys seemed less cutthroat than the girls, and the girls were much less physically imposing than their partners. But still, they all seemed strong and terrifying.

District Three, unlike past years, also had strong, older, outgoing Tributes. The boy was more about brains, but held a coldness in his countenance, and was on the taller side. The girl looked like the Queen Bee of her school—definitely not a nice person.

The terror within Cerium kept building when the boy from Four—Lex—Volunteered. He was handsome, well-built, and seemed to hold a detachment under his confident façade as well.

"Seems like Festus has been Training the teens from Four hard," Frost noted offhandedly. "The boy matches Devon from One in size and muscle."

Cerium had to keep telling herself to Keep Positive, but it was getting hard. That was, until the small, blonde girl got Reaped.

"Oh dear," gasped Creselia.

"Poor Victor Mags," the green-blonde-haired Escort noted sadly.

The girl—Briar Indigo—didn't look intimidating or vicious. She'd mentioned that she Trained, but she was soft and caring enough to not allow her older friend to Volunteer for her.

Briar reminded Cerium so much of her older sister, and her friend Deryn, that it was almost painful. Briar looked a lot like Deryn, and had a soft-hearted, responsible air about her that Cerium associated with her sister Indium.

Soon after, District Five's Reaping played.

It was odd, watching herself on the screen. However, Cerium was grateful that she didn't end up bursting into tears.

Gavin's fight was still as impressive as it was the first time.

"That will certainly gain you Sponsors and ally requests," Frost noted to his Tribute, pride tinging his usually stoic voice.

"It will also paint a target on Gavin's back," Creselia brought up, before addressing the teen. "Either way, be careful. Only trust those you're sure are honest."

"Well, I've already got Cerium—so that's a good start!" the boy exclaimed, reaching out a gangly arm to clap Cerium on her shoulder, from his still cat-like position stretched on the couch. The girl gave him a grateful smile.

District Six's ceremony came next. The girl, Calisto, look like she'd be a good ally. The boy was weird, and had a dark vibe that made Cerium wary.

Flynn of Seven looked promising, but the fact that she forced her anger down to put on a stoic mask showed that there was more to her than what it seemed. Her young-looking District partner—Animal—was just a bag of bad news.

Cerium felt bad for the Eight girl—who cried hysterically throughout the entire Reaping. When it came to the boy—Jonah—he ran and fought the Peacekeepers like Gavin had done.

This caused Gavin to perk up, sitting up from his previous lazy position on the couch, watching the screen intently. After Jonah's riveting speech, Gavin gave a wide grin, clapping his hands enthusiastically. "You go, Jonah! That was awesome!"

"Two brawlers teaming up would be a deadly combo," Frost noted quietly as Gavin fist-pumped the air. Cerium grinned, but personally felt that Jonah was too aggressive and loud for her tastes.

She didn't say anything to discourage her District partner, though.

District Nine was a spectacle. The girl was poised, with a deep stare. The boy looked abused, and was the apparent pariah of the District.

Then Victor Niveus Blackburn stumbled out of his seat and spoke to the crowd scathingly, and Cerium gaped at the things said.

"Woah…Heavy stuff," Gavin commented, eyes wide.

"I-Intimidating…" the girl muttered aloud.

The girl from Ten looked like a firecracker, and the boy vicious and the size of a truck. Only Boom from Two was bigger in size than him. Definitely two Tributes to avoid, aside from the Careers.

Eleven's Reaping of the girl was cringeworthy, and everyone thankfully seemed to share her distaste. The boy—Hastiin—Volunteering came out of left field. His hardened nature and mature speech was also surprising, especially for his age.

"He's the youngest kid so far!" Gavin crowed. "And one of the shortest, too."

"He's so…" Cerium started, unable to find proper words to describe the boy. "Wise."

Creselia was grinning widely, looking pleased. "I like him. He knows how to look underneath the underneath."

District Twelve's Reaping was just embarrassing, as was expected from the poorest District in Panem. However, a boy **also** Volunteered—for his 12 year old brother.

"Thoughts?" Frost asked, after the Escort turned off the television.

"Lots of strong Tributes, definitely," Gavin noted, cracking his knuckles offhandedly.

"They're on the older side, too," Cerium added, biting her lip. "Lots of boy Volunteers."

"You don't have to analyze them fully right now. You have time to think over it," Creselia soothed. "These are just first impressions, after all."

That's right. They still had a few days, even if they'll be crazy-busy.

She still had time.

* * *

**Hastiin Tsoh, 14, D11**

After the Vamiya Incident—which Hastiin had a dreadful feeling will haunt him in some shape or form—the boy did not leave Homini Laridge's side for the first three hours straight.

He was even more wary of Vamiya now, than he was even back during the Reapings. She was dangerous. Possibly psychotic. It wasn't that hard to see.

He's infinitely grateful that Homini Laridge also sees that.

"Let's go get lunch," Homini sighed in frustration, after noting the time on a clock. "Lord, those other two…Well, they can eat later by themselves."

He held the distinct feeling that their Escort and female Tribute were doing inappropriate, _private_ things. Ew.

Homini led him around the Train. "And the kitchens should be…Right here!" the teen Victor noted proudly. She was probably grateful that she remembered the layout.

The boy stared at the bustling kitchen, filled with men and women swathed in red robes.

"Hello, I'd like some lunch ready for me and the male Tribute," Victor Homini started politely to the kitchen at large. The cooks snapped at attention, staring at the duo. "Hastiin, do you have any preferences on the meal…?"

Hastiin wasn't much for frivolities, or being picky. But damn it, if the Capitol was going to pit 24 children to fight to the death, he could very well have whatever the hell he wanted as a meal.

"I'm fond of raspberries, and goat cheese," he admitted.

"Ah, and don't forget corn dishes," Homini added with a grin. "That's what our meal will be—please and thank you."

Hastiin nodded his head at them respectfully. "Please, and thank you."

The robed cooks nodded, giving them smiles and looking pleasantly surprised at how respectful the duo were. They quickly began to bustle around, making many gestures to one another, not a word spoken.

Homini led the short boy back to the dining room. As he sat down, Hastiin asked, "Who were those people? They were dressed in robes, and didn't say a word…"

"Ah," the Victor noted, a sad look in her eyes. "Those were the Avoxes. They're people that were caught and punished for being Rebels. They can't speak, because they've gotten their tongues cut out."

The boy stared wide-eyed back at her.

That was…Awful. Barbaric. Inhumane.

How the hell are the Avoxes not common knowledge? Most importantly—how can people just **sit back** and let such a thing happen?!

"Hastiin, I know it must be a shock, but…" the Victor trailed off, leaning forwards and lowering her voice. "It's just something that's done. Don't feel guilty for the practice—you can't do anything to help them."

That made things even **worse**. It reminded Hastiin of all the wrongdoings of the Capitol, all the injustice they inflicted.

Soon, the food was carried to them in large trays by the Avoxes. As he ate, Hastiin mulled over the Avoxes once more.

Why would the Capitol do something so **stupid** as to make their enemies their servants? **Obviously**, the servants would despise them, and possibly find ways to screw things up. Poison, damaged property, revolts—they had so much to use to fight back!

Avoxes would know all the secrets, hiding spots, and weapons of the Capitol. Indentured servitude would only make the Rebels even angrier and more likely to cause a rebellion of some sort. And why would you let Avoxes near any high-profile people in the government? They're still Rebels, for God's sake!

Hastiin came to the conclusion that the Capitol was full of elitist morons.

So after his meal, Hastiin skulked through the Train, noting the usual hangouts of the Avoxes, and locations of some of the surveillance cameras. In an empty hallway, he asked a dark-skinned Avox for a notepad and pencil. Once he had the writing items he requested, the boy scribbled something and handed it back to the Avox.

'_Are there any secure places on this Train for some privacy?_'

With a baffled look on his face, the servant nodded, ushering the Tribute to some sort of cluttered store room. Plopping himself on a closed box, the boy scribbled another question on the pad.

"This was the best way I thought I could communicate with you," Hastiin explained calmly, as he handed the notepad to the man. "Exchanging messages."

'_How many Avoxes are on this Train?_' asked the wide, childish writing.

The Avox stared between the boy and the message. "I'd like to know just a bit about you all," Hastiin said quietly. "Please, if you have the time and the knowledge…

At the servant's silence, Hastiin added, "If not, you can send me off to others that do. I'll be careful, so that you won't get in trouble."

With one last, long stare, the man looked down and started scribbling furiously. After 5 minutes, he passed the pad back to the boy.

'_I'll tell u what I know, but being discreet would b the best option. I could tell u who'd b interested or free 2 answer ur ?s, when I can't._

_There's 12 Avoxes on this Train. It's the same 4 every District Train during the HG._

_Also, u should probly burn these messages. There's surveillance almost everywhere_.'

With a grin spreading on his face, Hastiin nodded. A plan began to form into his head, as he began writing something down once more.

'_Thanks for the advice…Now, do you 12 keep contact, or are you switched around positions a lot?_'

A few minutes later, Hastiin and the servant—named Olive—parted ways. Hastiin was confident in the information he gathered, and how networking with an untapped source like the Avoxes would help his plans in slowly taking down the Capitol.

* * *

**Madras Ling, 18, D8**

"I know what you're going through," Kitrina Mordant said soothingly, as she rocked Madras back and forth in her arms, as they sat on the Tribute's bed.

"Y-You do?" she hiccupped, peeking up shyly at the tanned woman.

"I do," Kitrina said, with a sad smile. "Not just about getting Reaped, about your…profession, too."

At the implication of Madras' job, the girl burst back into frantic tears, ashamed, and ducked back her head into the woman's shoulder.

"Hey, you only did that to survive; there's no shame in that," the woman soothed, but there was a firmness in her words. "If you feel ashamed for doing whatever possible to survive, then those sacrifices, that sin—it means **nothing**."

"But it only means nothing—it's only a bad thing—if you give up and **make** it that way. You're still here, you still worked hard; don't let it go to waste."

The kindness made Madras feel warm, but also overwhelmed her.

Some of her coworkers have tried to reach out to her, but Madras always pulled back. If the other prostitutes had similar stories to her, then that would cement that Madras was just another number. That nothing about her fate was different.

"If you'd like to talk about it, I'm here," the Victor insisted. "Whatever you need, I'll be here to help you, okay?"

"Okay," Madras murmured meekly.

The two simply stayed in their positions in silence, Madras sniffling all the while as Kitrina kept passing her hand through Madras' tangled mane. It reminded her of what her mother would do…

"My parents—they died a year ago," Madras started, voice thin and wavering, telling her story to the Victor.

Kitrina Mordant simply listened, gently coaxing at some points, waiting patiently at others. Once the Asian was done spilling her life story, the woman hummed.

"We're very similar, actually," she noted. "We've lost parents, had to go whore ourselves out to provide for our families…Gotten Reaped and thrown in the Games…"

Madras staid silent. She never thought of it, but it was kind of true.

She felt guilty for whatever negative thoughts she had of Victor Kitrina in the past. This woman was too nice for all the scathing remarks from the District. She probably didn't even enjoy whoring herself out during her Games. She only did what she did for survival…

Yes, it made sense. But it only made Madras cry once more, for the injustice.

"Hey, hey—was it something I said?" the woman asked, sounding baffled.

"I-I'm s-sorry," Madras warbled. "B-But it's so awful, w-what you…A-And then people, h-how they talk a-about you…It's not…"

The girl received a tight hug in return. "Thank you," Kitrina murmured. "I just wanted to show you how you're not alone, but I still appreciate it."

The woman gave a bittersweet laugh. "It's funny; I didn't think I'd get someone _else_ to cry about my situation."

"B-But it's so tragic…" Madras noted in surprise.

"Most see the **image** of Kitrina Mordant, not the **actual** Kitrina Mordant," the woman noted with a grim smile. "The only tragedy is that Kitrina Mordant is the Capitol's whore, not the implications behind it."

Madras pulled back, looking at the woman in horror. "I-Is that why y-you're always o-over there…?" the girl asked in a weak voice.

The woman's eyes widened slightly. "Crap, I wasn't supposed to tell you that…"

"S-So if I win, t-the Capitol will…" Madras went on, face turning ashen, wide eyes filling up with tears once more.

"There's no guarantee," Kitrina noted weakly. "But, you know, there's still a possibility…Oh god, please don't start crying again—"

Madras was bawling once more, bringing the woman into a tight hug.

After another few minutes, Kitty finally managed to calm the girl down, and coax her into taking a refreshing shower. On shaking legs, the Tribute stepped into the luxurious bathroom, twisting knobs and pressing buttons cautiously.

When she exited, Madras was once more alone in her room. But she felt incredibly tired and weary, instead of feeling refreshed from the fancy shower.

So instead of exiting the room to face her situation once more, to face the pity, Madras shuffled over to her bed. Hiding herself under her thick, soft covers, and ignoring the familiar rumbling in her stomach, Madras quietly cried herself to sleep.

* * *

**Ashia Henley, 15, D12**

Ashia had retired to her room the first possible moment she could do so. She had been coaxed out for dinner by her Escort, but after the meal, she ducked her irritating District partner and all but bolted to her room once more.

Opening her precious journal to her previous page, the petite girl stared at the list of Tributes she had created. Her thoughts on each Tribute was held next to their name, age, and District. A small headshot was sketched next to each block of text.

_D1F: 'Ginny', 18, V. __Career. Fierce, business-like, defensive, forthright. Pretty; high Sponsors. May fight for dominance in Careers._

Her fierce, no-nonsense nature is intimidating. She's definitely not an atypical D1 girl.

_D1M: Devon, 18, V.__ Career. Charming façade, polite, self doubts, analyzer. Handsome; high Sponsors. Manipulator, may lead Careerss._

He seems like a prim, proper, perfect rich boy—someone who has their entire life perfectly worked out for him.

Deep in his eyes, he looked like he regretted Volunteering, of leaving his life behind for glory and gore. Was he pressured to Volunteer by his parents?

_D2F: 'Zie', 16, V.__ Career, not chosen by Riyo. Insane, hyper, childish, sadistic. Adrenaline junky. Uses pointed objects for weapons. Unhinged wild cannon of Careers._

She's insane. Did an event befall her to mold her into this, or was she born this way?

Either possibility is terrifying.

_D2M: 'Boom', 18, V.__ Career. Friendly, stupid, energetic, forgetful. Giant; high Sponsors. Uses explosives and brute force(?). Muscle/brute/loyal dog of Careers. Asian._

He's a killing machine with the mentality of a large, playful dog. If he wasn't a warrior that would likely smear everyone across the Arena's floor, he would be likeable.

His unconventional weapon of explosives is also very concerning...

_D3F: Vulca, 17, V.__ Career wannabe; no visible Training. Haughty, arrogant, snobby, bitch. Pretty; high Sponsors._

She now knows where God has bestowed the most annoying, screechy voice to. This girl would fit in **perfectly** in the Capitol.

_D3M: Malcolm, 17.__ Smart, argues, mulish, critical. Strategy. Asian._

He breaks half the stereotypes of his District, but also embodies a negativity that will get on the Tributes' bad sides.

_D4F: Briar, 15.__ Victor Mags' niece. Career(?) w/ Training. Soft, indecisive, responsible, moony for boys. Hearing problems. Swimming, hooks and nets(?), weapons knowledge. Cute, Victor's niece; high Sponsors._

It's completely unfair how many advantages this girl has. She's soft, yet has Career training. She's average, yet is related to a Victor. She's Reaped, and yet people will still consider her as a contender.

_D4M: Lex, 16, V.__ Career, Trained. Charming façade, arrogant, narcissus, detached. Handsome; high Sponsors. Brute force. May fight D1M in Careers._

The fact that he has a present sizeable fanbase on top of his build and training is…very disheartening.

_D5F: Cerium, 16.__ Sheltered, innocent, intuitive, sensitive._

…Is it awful that Ashia considers her a useless case?

_D5M: Gavin, 18.__ Fighter, impulsive, joker, laid-back. Fought Peacekeepers. Fists/hand-to-hand/brute force. Fighting; high Sponsors._

Friendly, but strong—like the D2 boy. At least Gavin's not a Career, but still…

_D6F: Calisto, 16.__ Playful, enthusiastic, fearless, positive. Chocolate bunny girl. Asian._

She'd make a good ally to anyone, as long as her jumping headfirst won't get her or any of her allies killed.

_D6M: Yohan, 16.__ Shady, awkward, underhanded, suspicious. On Gamemaker hit list. Asian._

Despite looking malnourished, something about him says 'danger'.

It's not obvious, like the Careers, or of the other strong fighters in the poorer Districts. But it lurks in the shadows.

Like a criminal.

_D7F: Flynn, 15__. Deadpan, calculating, defiant, determined._

She looked plain, but the emotions she had tried bottling up during the Reaping showed promise of a contender.

_D7M: 'Animal', 18, V.__ Possible training(?). Vicious, scathing, crass, capiricious. Large need to prove himself. Vandal of D7/criminal. High Sponsors/on Gamemaker hit list. Asian._

How such a cute-looking boy turned out to be so…violent, is a mystery to Ashia.

Actually, it wasn't. Not really. Amongst the sea of emotions, there was hatred, bitterness, and hurt in his eyes.

He must have been bullied.

_D8F: Madras, 18.__ Meek, emotional, weak, haunted. Prostitute; may be popular in Capitol. Asian._

Ashia is unsure which fate would be better for the poor girl: die in the Hunger Games, or live and be circulated in the Capitol like her profession?

Either way, the girl is doomed to die, in some form…

Hopefully Ashia won't share her fate.

_D8M: Jonah, 15.__ Aggressive, pationate, confrontational, judgmental. Fought Peacekeepers. Fists/hand-to-hand/brute force. Fighting and handsome; high Sponsors._

His speech was pationate and inspirational, and he already has fans—but his temper could be his downfall.

_D9F: Liseli, 18.__ Poised, strong-willed, regretful, unreliable. Manipulator._

She has an unnerving strength of character. She looks like she'd do absolutely everything possible to get home.

_D9M: Azrael, 17.__ Desperate, emotional, restless, pained. Abused/self harms(?). Son of a serial killer. Defended by Victor Niveus Blackburn._

This poor boy has been through hell and back for no fault of his own. It shows in his posture, his face, his eyes…

Ashia isn't one for giving physical affection, but she has a strong need to give Azrael a hug.

_D10F: Mattie, 17.__ Coarse, temper, blunt, mulish. Pretty, stands up to District partner; high Sponsors._

If you play with fire, you're going to get burned.

_D10M: Clovis, 17.__ Violent, temper, brutish, indimidating. Strong, giant; high Sponsors. Muscle/brute/hand-to-hand combat._

Even more brutish and terrifying than the Careers.

Who knew villains existed in real life?

_D11F: Vamiya, 16.__ Seductive, unstable, manipulative, whore. Pretty and seductive; high Sponsors._

Who knew Succubus were real, as well?

_D11M: Hastiin, 14, V. No visible training(?). Wise, calm, determined, haunted. Youngest Tribute; high Sponsors. On Gamemaker hit list._

To her, his speech screams 'haunted Rebel'. He is much too wise beyond his years, too poignant, to be anything else.

Ashia gave a small sigh as she stalled at the last Tribute on her list. Her District partner.

_D12M: Canteen, 15, V.__ Volunteered for younger brother. Idiotic, dramatic, protective, loud-mouthed. Hunter. Uses bow and arrows._

God help the boy—because she's **not** going to ally with someone like him. Even if he **does** care a lot, and gives nice hugs…

0-0-0-0-0

Ashia fell asleep, her Token in her grip, only to be awakened by precise knocking on her door. The strict voice of her Escort filtered through the wood; it was time to get up and get ready for their arrival at the Capitol.

Blearily, Ashia stumbled into the bathroom for one of those pleasant 'showers'. Then, she slid on some soft, fine garments in her closet.

The Asian padded quietly into the dining room for breakfast, flinching bodily when Canteen gave an exclamation and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, chatting a mile a minute. Wriggling out of his grip, the girl instead sat down and ate a plain breakfast, her head ducked down.

Her Mentor and District partner chatted up a storm, but after a few minutes, they fell silent.

"We're here—at the Capitol," Victor Sab stated, grinning. Canteen rushed over to the window to stare out in awe, and the girl couldn't help but do so as well.

The buildings, the lights, and colorful arrange of people…It was like something out of a dream, or a story.

Perhaps it was a candy-coated nightmare, or tragedy.

* * *

**President Tenebris Monochrome**

The President of Panem sat in his large chair at the head of his desk, grinning widely as he watched the surveillance feeds split in 12 different screens. Each was of the delegations of the Districts of Panem arriving at the Capitol.

He gave a gleeful cackle, feeling like things were **finally** starting to get underway.

"Why are you so excited?" a woman suddenly deadpanned.

The man dramatically spun around in his chair to face her. Then decided to spin again. And again.

The woman let out a sigh. "You get less work done in that wheely chair than you did before."

The Asian snorted, digging his heels back into the soft-carpeted floor, stopping himself to face the woman once more. "You're no fun, Ruru," he noted with a lopsided grin.

The woman rolled her red eyes. Her standard black-and-white suit was impeccable, constrasting to her long, messy wayward hair. If she had worn anything other than black, then the clothing would get lost under her black mane of hair—which trailed down to her shins.

"You didn't marry me for my personality, Mr. President," his wife noted dryly.

"No, I married you because you let me dress and undress you however I want," the man noted with a leer at her shapely legs. After his last wife, he got bored of breasts; he was more of an ass man.

Mrs. Monochrome gave him a dead stare, not rising up to the bait. With a sigh and fond roll of his eyes, the man continued.

"Tell me, wife—why do you suppose I'm so excited right now?" he queried, placing his chin in his hand and smirking devilishly at her.

The red-eyed woman calmly responded, "You tell me, Mr. President. Your answer will no doubt be correct."

The man tsked. "Always with your perfect poise and correct answers—I can't even rile you up when I stick my fingers in your…" he trailed off, looking disheartened that she didn't change an iota, despite almost saying something vulgar to gain a reaction from her.

"I'm excited, my wife, because the Chariots are going to be soon," he said instead, brightening considerably. "The lively crowds, and the deafening cheers, the bright and vivacious parade…Why do you suppose I would enjoy the Chariots, Ruru, dear?"

"Because it was you who implemented the practice of the Chariot Rides, Mr. President," the woman answered promptly.

The Asian grinned. "**Exactly**, Ruru."

She twitched. "Please, do not call me Ruru, Mr. President."

"I make no promises," he chuckled, with a smirk.


	16. Chariot Prep: Fashion

**AN**: Okay, this took me forever to get back in the groove of writing, with finals and me catching up with other syots and submitting tribbies

But yeah. Here it is. Hope its funny/interesting enough. I made it 8k words to compensate for the long wait :V

* * *

**Chariot Prep: Fashion**

"_Fashion,  
Put it all on me,  
I am anyone you want me to be_."

* * *

**Regina Gabriella 'Ginny' Saunders, 18, D1**

It was a good thing her body was programmed to wake up at 6 am sharp, or else she'd have been a very irritable girl when the Capitol Escort theatrically burst through Ginny's bedroom, exclaiming that they were almost at the Capitol.

Ginny got up, giving an irritated look at the ridiculous woman, before retreating to the bathroom to shower and change into a set of fresh clothes. When she seated herself in the dining room a few minutes later, she was met with a bleary-eyed Devon nursing a strong cup of coffee.

"What? You're not used to getting your beauty rest interrupted?" she asked him with a smirk, amused when he shot her an irritated look.

"It's more like I was up later than usual, trying to think about our fellow tributes. But, yes, I've gotten less sleep this morning," he answered her after taking a long drag of his mug. Giving a twitch, he smoothed down a wayward piece of hair on his temple self-conciously.

Before long, the Capitol woman strode into the room. "Oh, you two are very fortunate—to be the first Tributes to arrive in the Capitol! It's certainly a treat."

"Absolutely," Devon answered, giving his usual charming smile, before ducking down to eat his breakfast, completely ignoring the woman. Smooth, Ginny noted; now he left **her** to do all the talking.

"How long until the other Districts show up?" Ginny asked the Capitolite, who was adjusting her floor-lenth purple wig.

"The time span between when each District arrives can be from five minutes, to a half hour," the woman answered. "As District One, you two arrive first—and have the longest time to be prepped for the Chariot Rides, with District Two due to arrive three minutes after you. Why, it must be a few hours of difference between your prep time, and that of District Twelve."

Ginny raised her eyebrows in surprise. She always knew that District Twelve came last, since they were the last in order, but…Well, it was rather baffling that Twelve had **hours** less than the first Districts to get ready for the Chariots.

No wonder Districts Nine through Twelve always had the worst costumes. It also made a startling amount of sense that Eleven and Twelve took so long to gain Victors, as well. Districts like One and Two truly had a large advantage, especially if one takes into consideration the Training…

Ginny's near epiphany and intellectual analysis was halted by the breathtaking form of the Capitol through the windows in the room. The morning light glistened upon the gargantuan, towering buildings, and there were colors every which way that Ginny never knew even existed until she saw them with her very eyes.

"Behold! Our glorious Capitol city!" Nebula bellowed, grandly sweeping her arms towards the floor-length windows, proudly displaying her home to the two teenagers.

Ginny could certainly get used to the sight, when she became Victor.

* * *

**Terezie 'Zie' Raquelle, 16, D2**

Zie vibrated at the exit, ready to leap out of the Train and start exploring. But, of course, Riyo had to ruin her plans.

"No biting, stabbing, kicking, hitting—no violence whatsoever when you step into that crowd, do you understand me?!" the Victor harked, jerking Zie back by the scruff of her shirt.

"Yeah, yeah, sure. Whatever," the girl said dismissively, causing the Asian woman to growl. "I just want to get out into the big wide world already! Being cooped inside this Train has been driving me nuts!"

"And you were not nuts already?" the Escort muttered under their breath, in semi-bafflement. "Lord art in Heaven…" The Tributes, however, ignored the colossal 7 foot Capitolite—a huge feat in itself, all things considering.

"I'm really excited too—imagine all the new people we can meet!" Boom noted, giving a bright smile.

"Alright—Walk **straight** towards the doors of the Training Center. No detouring, no dillydallying, and no shenanigans," Riyo hissed at the two teenagers, as their Escort opened the door and led the way off the halted Train.

Zie and Boom were too distracted by all the weird, alien-esque Capitolites that were crowded around the Train, held back by red velvet ropes and white-uniformed Peacekeepers, to pull off any shenanigans. Gawping like white tourists when first meeting indigenous natives, they were easily herded into the multi-story skyscraper that would be their home for the next few days.

"Crisis averted," Eshana noted quietly, while Riyo sighed in relief, her stiff posture slackening.

"Yes—and now for the next 5 days," she said, voice dreary, as their Escort led Zie and Boom—who were 'oooh'ing and 'ahhhh'ing appreciatively at the sights.

"Can I bite my Stylists if they annoy me?" Zie asked randomly, innocently staring up at Lousc.

"No!" Riyo exclaimed in irritation, swiftly marching over to lecture Zie and Boom on the proper etiquette for the prepping.

Zie pouted. "Can't ever have any fun with you," she grumbled under her breath.

* * *

**Calisto Cadbury, 16, D6**

"So, what **exactly** are we supposed to do for the prep?" Calisto asked her Mentor, feeling confused. "Can you give us anything to go by, so we can, y'know, get ready and know what to do?"

Sirona Minerals stayed quiet, staring at her Tributes, seemingly gauging their reactions.

"You get a full makeover!" Tessa Trivault chirped, flashing the teenagers a blindingly white smile. "Head to toe! Hair, nails, skin—everything!"

"Everything?" Yohan muttered, confused.

Calisto looked between her Mentor and her Escort, connecting the pieces. "So, we get naked for them?" she guessed.

At the blank face of Sirona, and the nod from Tessa, she knew she was right.

"Oh. Okay," Calisto said, giving a shrug. "Makes sense."

Meanwhile, Yohan's eyes widened to the size of plates, and his pale complexion was turning a vibrant shade of red. "_What_?" he croaked.

"We're supposed to get naked. Y'know, so that they can do that full-body makeover, and make sure we're up to their perfect standards, and stuff," she tried to explain helpfully.

Yohan, meanwhile, was staring wildly at the women in the room, before staring at his District partner. "How—How are you so calm about this?" he asked in a strained voice.

Calisto quirked up an eyebrow in confusion. "Um, because it's not **that** bad. Nudity doesn't bother me," she said. "I mean, gosh, my boyfriends have seen me half-naked so many times, they don't even react any more—which I'm not sure if I should take as insulting, or not, actually…"

She trailed off, noting at how Yohan stared at her, eyes blank and unseeing. She waved her hand in front of his face. "Uh, Yohan? Yoooooo, Yohan—you okay?"

After getting no response, other than him mumbling "_naked…boyfriends…many times?_" under his breath, Calisto shrugged helplessly at her Mentor and Escort. "Whoops. I think I broke him."

Sirona slowly massaged her temples. "Calisto…Being so open with hormonal teenage boys about your usual state of dress is usually not a very good idea…Especially with someone as socially awkward as Yohan."

The Capitolite, meanwhile, had broken into peals of laughter, and was clutching at her stomach.

With a confused shrug, Calisto decided that for now she'll just think about the Chariots, and worry about her District partner-slash-ally later.

* * *

**Mattie Wilde, 17, D10**

Mattie was quickly going over her game plan with her Mentor, for the Chariots.

"Can you be any more specific other than '_just let them do whatever'_? That's not very helpful," the girl groused at the younger boy.

The 15 year old Victor shrugged. "I feel like if I went too in-depth, I'd either bore ya, or ya'd get mad at me, y'know?"

"No, I **don't** know—because you won't fuckin' tell me anythin'!" she shouted in frustration, grabbing at her head and pulling at her red hair.

"Uh…" Taz muttered, shrinking back and looking nervous.

Mattie took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, forcing herself to calm down. "Sorry," she said curtly. "But the nerves are gettin' at me, and…I really need yer help."

The boy brightened from the admittance. "Oh, well, I'm happy to help! Listen up, 'kay? 'Cuz I'm not gonna repeat myself too much."

"Shoot," she said, taking a quick look out the windows. "And try to make it quick—looks like we're almost there."

"Okay, so first off," Taz started quickly. "It may be a different experience for ya. But for me, preppin' for the Chariots was pretty much me gettin' naked— and the Stylists takin' off all of my body hair, rubbin' my skin raw, and slatherin' me with enough creams and lotions to toboggan down a mountain unscathed."

There was dead silence for ten seconds straight, before Mattie roared out a scandalized, engraged, "WHAT?!"

"Knew ya'd get mad at me," Taz grumbled with a pout.

"How can they just expect me to, to— to fuckin' stand nude for 'em?!" Mattie roared, pacing the room furiously. "Bullshit! I ain't doin' that for the fuckers!"

"They won't take advantage of you, or touch you weird, or anythin'," Taz tried to assure her. "After all, I still have the same Stylist team from my Games, and they're all okay people! They just strip ya down, 'cuz Capitolites are perfectionists and stuff when it comes to appearances."

"Fuckin' hypocrites—they can't do that shit, when they look like god-damn clowns!" she hissed, although she seemed to calm with her Mentor's assurances that she wouldn't be violated.

"Although… I'm just a scrawny little kid," Taz noted offhandedly, looking at the ceiling with a hum. "Nothin' appealin' there. A pretty teenage girl like you, though, could be a completely different story…"

Another heavy silence ensued, before Mattie once more burst out into an enraged, "WHAT?!"

"Whoops. Did I say that out loud?"

* * *

**Vulca Spark, 17, D3**

Vulca sighed blissfully, as one of her stylists massaged a floral shampoo into her scalp. This was heaven, a taste of what Victory will be like, and it was incredibly sweet.

"You're such a stunning girl!" one of the women cooed, carefully wiping Vulca's face with a special cloth.

"The best-looking Tribute we've ever had," the lone male sighed dreamily.

"Really, dear—how you keep looking so pristine in such a place like District Three…" the last said, her voice full of awe. "It's truly a miracle."

"Well, I **am** high-class," the dark-haired Tribute noted lazily, a smirk on her face. "I actually care about my appearance, and do my best to maintain my high standards."

As her Stylists lavished her with compliments, Vulca relaxed in the comfortable chair, the smirk never leaving her face.

* * *

**Lex Calder, 16, D4**

"What a handsome young man," one of his stylists tittered—a woman with pretty blue hair, like the ocean.

"Ooh, such muscles to die for!" squealed a short woman with boyish, mint-green hair. Lex flexed one of his biceps for her, and she smoothed her hand over them with a reverent sigh.

The last woman bopped the green-haired one on the head. "Stop groping him so blatantly—at least lotion him up while you do it," she muttered, before turning to the boy. "Now, Lex—take them off."

"Hm?" the boy asked lazily, preening himself at the attention and compliments like the total narcissis he was.

"The pants and underwear. Off," commanded the no-nonsense Stylist. "You male Tributes always have a lot of body hair, so we need to wax every single inch."

Lex gulping, paling slightly. "Er—**every** single inch?"

"Don't worry, handome," purred the blue-haired woman from before. "It doesn't hurt—much."

"I'll put our special aloe-vera cream wherever you hurt, Lex," said the mint-haired woman with an impish grin, a devilish gleam in her eyes.

After the waxing—in which Lex felt hurt and **raw** in places he'd never felt such a thing before—the previous enjoyment started to wane.

* * *

**Tomoki 'Animal' Seshat, 18, D7**

"You're so **adorable**!" squealed one of the Stylists—the youngest one, a girl who actually looked normal, barring her pink hair.

"I'm not adorable," Animal grumbled with a pout. "I'm sexy as hell."

"Alright then, _sexy_—how 'bout you strip for us, then?" asked a red-skinned man, his voice level, and slightly sarcastic. "We need you nude, so we can make you ultra-sexy on top of your already high sexiness."

The man was laying it on thick, but Animal puffed up with a smirk, pleased at the compliments, and totally disregarding the sarcasm. "Well, I **suppose** I can grace you all with my superb figure," he drawled, ridding himself of his clothes.

"Hmmm…Young Asians **have** been a spot of interest, since Yoshiro Varsley…" said the other male Stylist, with an amused smirk, as the three began to pluck the boy like a bird.

"Fuck you—I'm 18, damn it! **Eighteen**!" the Tribute stressed, a snarl on his face.

"Yeah, no, I believe you," the red-skinned man said, looking at Animal pointedly down below the belt. "Can't mistake **that** for a little kid's."

The boy gave an awkward cough, for once not knowing what to say, or how to react, to the situation presented to him.

* * *

**Vamiya Willows, 16, D11**

Vamiya was in bliss.

She was surrounded by attractive males—her entire Stylist team was made up of men. Men who appreciated her body, and flirted back.

**This** was what she's wanted, ever since being Reaped. Having attractive males wrapped around her little finger, do things for and to her. Sure, her Escort was very much willing to fill her urges, but this—**this** was the life.

This was what Victory would bring. And it would all be hers.

The only damper upon the experience was the spirit of her little sister who kept commentating on how the men looked like aliens. And…

One of the stylists sighed. "Oh, you're so stunning, Vamiya."

"Very," another agreed. "So much different than the usual District Eleven fare."

"It's really too bad though…" the third noted wistfully. "That you still need **so** much work."

Vamiya stiffened. "Excuse me?" she asked in a deathly quiet voice.

"Yes, yes, a shame!" the first man tittered. "Your hair is so dirty, and so many split ends—"

"So many clogged pores, and such awfully treated skin…" another muttered.

"And your nails are quiet frankly atrocious," the last said, voice pitying, before he brightened. "But don't you worry, Vamiya dear—we'll make you absolutely stunning!"

Vamiya felt like ripping out all of their throats at that very second.

* * *

**Jonah Abagnale, 15, D8**

The second Jonah stepped foot into the room, he was uncomfortable.

Standing before him were two men and a woman, who rushed at him and all but mobbed him.

"Such a strong boy!" one of the men cooed, clutching at the boy's jaw, forcefully moving his face into many angles. "And such a wonderful face! I honestly don't think we'll need to do much work on him."

"Nope—he's cute as a girl," the woman smiled, all teeth. "Jonah, if you were a woman, I'd totally date you. I've always liked my gals fiery."

"Yes, yes—and he's so inspirational!" the other man crowed, clutching onto the boy's hands. "That speech at your Reaping—oh, that speech was just **splendid**. It's people like you that make me proud for being gay," the lilac-haired man sobbed. "Bless you, Jonah."

Jonah was overwhelmed. He wasn't used to all this positive reinforcement.

Usually, when people were up in his face and personal space, they either wanted to pick a fight, or were mindless love-struck girls. And being gay was seen as a big taboo back in Eight—like a curse; not something so casually admitted, or a point of pride.

This was too alien. On top of being dropped into a completely new environment, thrust into lavishness beyond his wildest dreams, without a single face he recognized in this room—these people being so oddly-colored and flamboyant and completely **weird**…It was too much.

Jonah wanted to turn around, and slam the door closed. He wanted to yell. He wanted to fight. To do something **familiar** in this completely foreign and **un**familiar place.

For whatever reason, he began to cry.

* * *

**Azrael Rachaye, 17, D9**

Azrael nervously fiddled with his robe as his Stylists worked on him.

He was glad that they gave him enough privacy to take his clothes off and put on the floor-length robe in the attached bathroom. He never liked showing his skin. And he never liked showing his scars.

People would look down upon him, if they ever saw them. They wouldn't consider that he was in pain—instead, they would think that the scars were of him being a part of violent activities.

Because he was a monster, and monsters don't ever feel pain. That's the mindset of his District.

Azrael was so easily startled and skittish, awkward and always closing in on himself, that even his dense Stylist team seemed to figure out that something was wrong with him. That maybe, being seen naked was something he definitely wouldn't like.

After a few minutes, the Head Stylist entered the room. For a wild second, Azrael thought that it was his mother—but the height was wrong, and his mother never had florescent tattoos littering her arms and collarbone.

That didn't stop his eyes from burning, or his throat from constricting.

The woman slowly neared him, like one would to a cornered, wounded animal. "Azrael?" she said carefully, voice purposefully made soft. "Azrael, I came, because we need you to take off your robe. Can you do that for us?"

Shaking like a leaf, choking back tears, the boy shook his head vehemently.

Biting her lip, the woman shared looks with her team. "Honey—do you need me to get someone for you? Your Mentor, or your Escort?"

"N-No," he said, voice warbling and on the edge of cracking. Digging his palms into his eyelids, he curled up in his seat into a tight ball. There came gasps and sharp inhales of breath, as the sleeves of his robe slid down his arms naturally, showing them his self-inflicted scars.

"Oh, Azrael," the other woman in the room gasped. The orange-haired Stylist cautiously neared him, knealing in front of him, and softly touching his arms. The boy flinched, peaking out fearfully from between his hands to stare at her.

The woman slowly pried off one of the golden bangles that had been clamped solidly around her wrist, turning her hand upwards. Azrael gaped, staring at familiar-looking white scars that littered the area of the pulse point.

"I-I've hurt myself, too," the orange-haired Capitolite said, voice quaking. "But I…**We** can help you…Please?"

Staring between the woman, the other Stylists, and the Head Stylist, Azrael finally nodded his head.

"Okay," he said, voice small. "B-But, if my costume can…Can cover them up…"

"I'll alter it for you," the Head Stylist promised, and Azrael uncurled himself, giving a strained smile.

"Then…Okay," he mumbled, slowly untying the belt of his robe, and shouldering it off, looking uncomfortable. "I'm ready."

That was a lie—because he could never be ready. But it was a first step.

* * *

**Buddy Rancher, Victor of the 3****rd**** Annual Hunger Games, D10**

"Will they be okay?" Taz asked him in a loud whisper, watching their Tributes leaving to get prepped, concern on his young face.

"I'm sure they will," the man answered, trying to fight down a grimace. In other years, that would be wholeheartedly true, but this year, well…Ten's Tributes certainly had explosive temperaments.

"Come on—We can't do nothing to help them, now," he said, putting a hand on the boy's back and steering him through the building.

"Where are we goin'?" Taz asked curiously, taking in the unfamiliar route the two were taking.

"Meeting up with some of the others—a bit of a recent tradition for us to gather in the hours of when our Tributes get poked and prodded," Buddy explained with a grin. "Ah, here we are. Quite a few of us are already gathered, it seems."

"Hey, ya'll," he greeted to the group at large, with a wide smile on his face. "Brought our newest addition with me," he added, clapping a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Hi, I'm Taz!" the short Victor chirped, his penchant large, bright smile on his face. "But ya'll probably already know that, I bet—I mean, I kinda already met ya'll a few months ago, haha…"

"Welcome to our shitty, rag-tag club, kid," Yoshiro Varsley drawled, quickly stepping forwards and gesturing sarcastically with his arm to the rest of the group. "You'll be our token 'little kid'."

Mediah Flash gave a pointed cough to hide his laughter. "Already foistering your old title onto the new kid, I see."

"Oi!" Yoshiro whirled back towards the man, a snarl on his face. "Keep your damn assumptions to yourself, you horny bastard!"

"If he were to father **another** child—not **that** would be a case that would fit your insult, Yoshiro," Red noted, hiding an uncharacteristic smirk behind a drink of water. Sirona, beside him, smacked his arm, an amused lilt to her mouth.

Festus—from his position next to Mags, with an arm wrapped around his good friend Eshana's shoulders—gave a chortle. "Personally, I just think Yoshiro's glad that there's finally someone shorter than him on our roster."

* * *

**Yoshiro Varsley, Victor of the 13****th**** Annual Hunger Games, D3**

Festus wasn't wrong. Ever since Yoshiro's Victory, every single Victor had been taller than him.

He'd been the shortest of all of them—until Taz won. _Finally_.

Yoshiro rolled his eyes, turning back to the newest Victor. "Ignore them," he told the boy, a grin growing on his face as he clapped the kid on the shoulder. "Just don't ever hit a growth spurt, alright? Never change, kid."

"Oh. Uhhhhh—thanks! I guess?" the young boy laughed, completely obliviously, but still brightly.

"Aw, he's so **cute**," Creselia cooed with a sigh, somehow managing to appear besides Yoshiro in an instant. The woman started to dreamily pet the boy on the head. "You'd make such a good child..."

Yeah, she's probably also pleased that someone shorter than her joined their bullshittery brigade. The naivety and idealism probably also helps in her liking Taz.

"Hands off, bitch—I saw him first," Yoshiro groused, face wanting to form into a pout. "He'll become **my** little minion, not yours."

"Uh…" Taz muttered with a blank smile, looking lost, and yet still amused of the situation.

"Even when he hits a growth spurt and towers over you?" Creselia asked slowly.

"Fuck that noise—Taz is **not** going to keep growing," Yoshiro groused. And, okay, his face was now formed into a pout—what of it? "He's going to **stay** this size, like one of those special-bred Capitol miniature dogs, that always look like puppies."

"That goes against all logic," Riyo noted with a snort, adjusting her glasses. "Honestly, Yoshiro…"

"Oi, don't judge me with your near-equal intelligence!" Yoshiro responded.

"_Near_-equal?!" Riyo exclaimed, voice jumping octave.

"Can you two not start bickering…?" Niveus interjected tiredly, in a dark voice, rubbing at his temples. "It's going to give me a migraine."

"Well, if you lowered your alcohol content…" Sirona chided him softly, brow furrowed in concern.

"Ah, can we just **not** get into a debate of adopting and/or abducting Taz?" Buddy spoke up, bringing attention back to him. He gave a nervous laugh as Yoshiro shot a glare at him.

"Okay, _fine_," Yoshiro huffed. "But when the Games hit, I'm going to use Taz as an arm rest, and no one can fucking stop me."

"Well, if you're going to be so occupied—maybe I can use your head as a boob-rest, again," Kitty snickered, wrapping an arm around the Asian's neck, ruffling his messy hair.

"God fucking damn it— not again!" Yoshiro cursed, face turning red, trying to escape the woman's hold. "Woof, get your ass over here and reign her in with your sheep-dog powers!"

"Sorry, but you're **barking** up the wrong tree," the other Victor from Eight laughed, drifting over to Yoshiro with a grin on his face.

"Don't act so _cold_—Yoshiro may reach a Faren_heit_ in his temper," Frost suddenly spoke, after staying silent for a full hour.

Woof gave a delighted laugh. "Nice one, Frost!"

"I'm just staying _frosty_," the albino uttered, looking over the dark lenses of his glasses at Woof and the ragtag group by the entrance.

Kitty let go of Yoshiro of her own volition, giving a Cheshire cat grin at the duo from Ten, as Yoshiro glared at her, rubbing at his head. She knelt in front of Taz, hands on her knees, to properly look him in the eyes. "As you can see, we're a pretty dysfunctional group."

"But we definitely put the _fun_ in _dysfunctional_," Woof added, perching his elbow on Yoshiro's shoulder, much to his annoyance.

Yoshiro shrugged Woof's limb away, rolling his eyes. "Yeah. Sure. Let's fucking go with that."

Taz simply gave a snort, bursting into childish giggles. "Y'know, I think I'm **definitely** gonna like ya'll."

* * *

**Ashia Henley, 15, D12**

Ashia was simply grateful that despite being under heavy scrutiny, in the nude, by the odd Stylists, that they allowed her to fiddle with her Token.

Nervously tapping the borrowed pen to her lips, Ashia started to add detail upon the dress she was creating. In a perfect world, she could wear it for the Chariots, or even the Interviews.

But, no. Her Stylists frankly had other plans.

Her drawing, however, did not leave their notice. The group of harpies, once they noticed what Ashia was actually doing with her notebook, descended upon her.

"Holy shit—you're really good!" the woman with the red Mohawk crowed.

The woman that had been working on Ashia's hair hummed. "Do you have any more drawings, dear?"

"Gah! How can such a little kid from the Districts be so brilliant?!" wailed the last woman—who held muted green skin. "I wish **I** could do something half as good…"

Feeling even more uncomfortable than before, Ashia wanted to curl her body around her notebook, but it was snatched from her hands by a fourth woman, who'd suddenly entered the room.

The neon-haired Head Stylist gave a low whistle. "Welp, **this** design blows away all the others I'd created," she noted idly. "It embodies the idea of smoke very well, with that drifting fabric—tull, I take it?"

"Um…" Ashia muttered, flushing under the hawk-like attention. "I-If tull is a thin fabric that can drift when held in place, then…yes?"

"Kid, where have you been all my life?" the Head Stylist asked, eyes gleaming. "Lemme copy this design down—I'm using it for your Interview outfit."

After a few minutes, Ashia left the room in a daze. She was going to wear one of her drawings, brought to life.

Covering herself self-conciously with her notebook, Ashia shuffled into the large basement-hanger-garage-room-thing that held all the Chariots. She quietly drifted over to District Twelve's Chariot—black, with black horses, as per usual. However, it seemed to be shaped like a furnace, with a low glow of fire painted in the middle.

Canteen, of course, was already there. Giving her a bright grin, he bent down to help her up onto the platform.

"We got done real quick, huh?" the curly-haired boy asked, giving a laugh. "Though, we don't exactly have a _costume_, per se…"

Ashia flushed, trying to forget that both of them were, in fact, naked. Body paint couldn't replace clothing, no matter **how** well it covered you…

Canteen suddenly gave a dreamy sigh. "Oh, look at her—such a _goddess_," he spoke, giving goo-goo eyes at the girl from Eleven, who'd barely entered the room.

Ashia stayed silent. Vamiya was no goddess—she was a succubus. And it looks like Ashia's stupid District partner already fell for her womanly wiles.

"I'm gonna go talk to her," the boy decided suddenly, eyes gleaming, a goofy smile on his face. "Hold the fort, will you, Ashia?"

"Canteen, _no_," Ashia hissed, clamping a hand on his arm.

"Canteen, _yes_," he retorted dazedly, already jumping off the platform.

Giving a groan, Ashia began to slowly bang her head against her notebook in second-hand embarrassment.

* * *

**Devon Mahone, 18, D1**

"You look like a pimp," Ginny noted, giving an amused smirk, when she sauntered over to District One's Chariot—a beautiful white structure with equally stunning white horses.

Devon frowned in distaste at his ally's words, looking down at his costume. He wore some type of silken half-opened shirt, tight black trousers, and a large red cape that held fur trim. The look was topped off with a large golden crown, multiple golden rings adorning his fingers, and he held a golden scepter with a large ruby at the top.

He was supposed to be a 'King' from medieval times— but quite frankly, it was all very tacky.

"I do hope you **do** realize that you look ridiculous as well…" he retorted, noting how similarly she was dressed. The only difference was that Ginny wore a low-cut dress, and held a slightly smaller crown, but everything else was the exact same.

The girl scowled at him. "I look ten times better than you," she groused.

"I didn't mean my comment as an insult, Ginny," he said patiently. "I simply noted that the costumes are incredibly tacky and ridiculous."

The scowl dropped from his District partner's face. "Okay, yeah—I agree with you there." Then, she gave a smirk. "So, if we're both pimps…Does that mean that the rest of the Careers are our bitches?"

Devon gave a snort in surprise, before breaking out into laughter. "I…Sure. Sounds like a plan," he said between chuckles.

"District One **is** going to dominate, so we might as well look the part," Ginny noted, playfully holding out her fist. Tentatively, Devon bumped it with his. "Co-rulers of the Career pack?"

"Yes, of course," Devon agreed quickly, smirking at the pleased look upon the girl's face.

Having Ginny back him up would be a great asset in wrangling in the volatile forces in the pack, this year. She would agree with him, using their combined forces to lead their alliance.

But when she becomes comfortable, Devon will be the one to slowly shift her to the wayside, taking up the **true** helm of leader. She'll _think_ that she's co-leading— but if Devon has it his way, then he'll manipulate them **all** to follow him wholeheartedly. Her loyalty will be valuable, and a bonus upon the whole deal.

At least, that'll be the plan, if he can actually make it **work**…His allies may be bullheaded enough to clash forces with him and make things much harder to control. And Devon was stubborn and authoritarian, which would **definitely** not make things easier.

* * *

**Isko 'Boom' Barrius, 18, D2**

"Hey, Zie—I think the Pack's having a powwow right now," Boom noted, having noticed the two pimped-out tributes from One already in a heated discussion. "You think we should go?"

"Yeah—sitting on this Chariot's kinda boring," Zie agreed, giving a bright grin as she lept off the platform and rushed towards the duo from One.

Chuckling, Boom stepped off the Chariot, causing it to groan and bounce in protest, the guillotine that was propped at the top of the structure swinging ominously. He casually walked towards the group of gathering Careers, the boy from Four quickly catching up to match his pace, despite the long fish tail of his costume being cumbersome.

"Welcome," Devon said warmly, shaking each person's hand. Boom shook his strongly, not noticing the composed boy wince at the crushing grip and slightly flex his fingers.

"Looks like the gang's all here," Lex noted with a grin, as he surveyed the group.

"What about your District partner…?" Boom asked curiously, tilting his head to the side.

"She said she wouldn't join the Careers, on the Train," Lex admitted, a displeased look on his face.

"Damn—the little bitch will be robbing Sponsors from us," Ginny growled, crossing her arms.

Boom felt confused, and Zie looked so too. "She doesn't look that strong," Zie commented. "I'm betting that Ten guy'll be getting lotsa sponsors."

"That's also true," Devon nodded at Zie.

Then, realization finally hit Boom. "Ohhhhhh," he said slowly. "It's because she's the niece of Victor Mags…right?"

"Exactly so," Devon nodded, giving a patient smile at the towering boy. Boom brightened like a puppy who'd just been told that he was a 'good boy'.

"Even without her, our pack's still got a strong number," Ginny admitted, a frown still adorning her face. "We're actually bigger than most years…"

Boom hummed in agreement. The only time the Career pack had 5 people was during Festus Marsh's Games. And now, here they were…

"We'll see if we can gain another during Training, just in case," Devon decided. Lex raised an eyebrow at the older boy.

"Who died and made you leader?" the boy from Four asked, puffing up indignantly.

"Actually, yeah! Who?" Zie added, bouncing on her feet. "Did you at least stab them?"

"I don't think that's what Lex meant," Boom told the short girl, giving an amused grin.

"Awwww…"

"District One's leading the pack this year," Ginny stated, flipping her long, black hair over her shoulder. She leveled a cold stare at the rest of them. "Devon and I are co-leaders."

"You decided that before any of us were even here," Lex rebutted, crossing his arms across his bare, sculpted chest, and flexing his biceps in a show of alpha-male-manliness. He turned to look at Boom. "Aren't you going to say anything about this, man?"

Boom blinked, an oblivious grin still on his face, as the entire alliance turned to look up at his towering form, bedecked in intimidating obsidian armor. "Um…No?" he supplied, giving a shrug.

"Seriously?" Lex asked in bafflement.

"I'm fine with following Devon and Ginny," Boom stated, giving a chuckle. "I'm not too smart to be a leader, and stuff, anyways."

"Yeah, that's actually on Riyo's orders," Zie added, hooking elbows with the tall Asian, causing their armor to clang loudly. "Said we'd lead the Pack into disaster, so we'd better do good with following."

"Oh," Lex stated dumbly, deflating slightly from his previous puffed-up state. "Um. Well…Alright then."

"You're backing down so soon?" Ginny asked, somehow managing to look down her nose at him, despite Lex standing 3 inches taller than her, like a true Queen.

Lex merely smirked, lazily waving a hand around, as if to clear the air. "Mahhh, I know when I'm beat. No use fighting the issue, when I'm out-numbered."

Boom brightened. "So now we can all get along, and be friends!"

"Yaaaaaay, murder friends!" Zie crowed, giving a whoop and throwing her hands up in the air.

"Murder friends!" Boom parroted, copying the wild-haired girl's actions.

* * *

**Clovis Essenerus, 17, D10**

This entire event was irritating as fuck.

Buddy Rancher had drilled into Clovis that he can't hurt anyone until he was in the Games, but it was damn difficult not to. Everyone was annoying, looked at him funny—and in the case of the Stylists, touched him in places that made him want to break them in half.

They all needed to be put in their damn places, but he couldn't do a fucking thing about it.

So he'd made it as difficult as possible for the Stylists to make him ready. If they touched him too much, he would grip their arms until they bruised. He would snap and snarl intimidatingly at them, forcing himself to use things in his disposal that weren't violent.

He'd even made one of his fruity Stylists faint. That made him pleased, because the man had been staring at Clovis like a juicy steak for most of the prep time.

Clovis stormed moodily into the hanger, an irritated snarl on his face. He was intercepted on his straight path to his Chariot, by a pretty girl with an upturned nose. District Three.

"Hello, Clovis—I'm Vulca," the girl purred, her voice incredibly grating.

"Don't care," he sniped, rudely shouldering her out of the way, causing the girl to give an indignant squawk and fall to the floor.

"Ugh! **Rude**!" the girl screeched at his retreating back, and Clovis rolled his eyes in irritation.

Clovis mounted his chariot—an large oaken thing, that displayed a painted forest scene, for some reason. Clovis felt confused. Weren't forests supposed to be Seven's thing?

Clovis' unasked question became answered, once his District partner stomped over to the Chariot, looking even more irritated than usual. She held what looked like real antlers on her head, and dressed in leather and fuzzy animal skins, with her face painted to look like some type of elk.

The boy smirked, realizing that she was the prey, to contrast to his hunter. They'd dressed Clovis as a stereotypical old-time 'cowboy', barring a shirt, and with a hunting rifle instead of pistols.

"Horse Bitch," he greeted curtly, amused smirk still on his face.

"Cheese Prince," she sniped back with a growl.

And thus, started the battle of insults.

"Horse Humper."

"Cow Fucker."

"Fire Crotch."

"Bull Bastard."

Clovis gave a smirk full of teeth, leering at her. "_Bambi_."

Mattie growled. "_Kinky Cowboy_," she sneered, crossing her arms across her chest petulantly. "I can't fuckin' believe they made **you** the hunter—you don't even hunt, damn it!"

"Oh, I **am** a hunter, bitch," Clovis retorted, chuckling darkly. "Once the Games hit, you'll see for yerself."

* * *

**Canteen Neverlast, 15, D12**

Canteen sighed dreamily every time Vamiya opened her mouth. She really was a goddess gracing the world with her presence.

In her short dress, made of leaves and littered with miniature plastic fruits, she looked like some type of goddess of the harvest. He complimented her lavishly about her costume, and she seemed very pleased with him for doing so.

"Oh, but I like your costume too," she purred.

Canteen grinned goofily, striking a pose and flexing his arms, displaying his taut, sinewy muscles gained from hunting. He didn't notice that Vamiya was specifically staring at his crotch, seemingly enjoying the sight a great deal.

Well, what she could probably see of it, that is. The Stylists had used black body paint to cover up the private bits of the District Twelve duo. The rest of their bodies were covered in swirls and patterns to emulate smoke.

They were as butt-naked as the day they were born. It didn't bother Canteen whatsoever, unlike his demure District partner.

Hey, at least it wasn't just coal dust smeared onto their nude bodies. That's happened once. It wasn't very pleasant.

* * *

**Malcolm Fritz, 17, D3**

Malcolm wasted no time in analyizing his fellow Tributes, once he entered the gargantuan hangar-like room that held the Chariots.

Perched upon his Chariot, Malcolm watched as his District partner tried to speak with the truck-like boy from Ten. Clovis merely shoved his way through her, causing Vulca to shriek and fall down, looking doubly ridiculous bedecked in her black jumpsuit with colorful flashing lights.

Malcolm shot a short, envious glare at the group of gathering Careers, who all had much better costumes than District Three could ever hope for. Malcolm felt completely disgusted with his poor excuse of a costume. What where he and Vulca supposed to be—a walking coil of Christmas lights? How…tacky.

The Asian turned his attention to the others in the room. The duo from Five were talking amicably on their Chariot, dressed as barrels of nuclear waste. However, the girl seemed to be surveying the room as well—most likely comparing her costume to the other Districts.

The duo from Seven were on their Chariot as well, dressed in fuzzy costumes. Malcolm could only guess that they were bears, considering the darkness of their costumes, as well as the ears and 'paw' gloves they held. On the chariot, perched above them, was a hive of bees dripping honey.

The so called boy 'Animal' looked to be getting within Flynn's personal space. He was smirking and talking nonstop, and she looked uncomfortable. He was most likely trying to flirt with her.

The girl from Eight—Madras—was meekly standing beside her chariot, avoiding eye-contact with everyone. Her costume looked like someone decided to tangle red yarn around her tiny form.

District Ten's Tributes were viciously bickering. Mattie was some sort of forest creature—a deer, perhaps?—and Clovis looked like a worker of his industry.

Malcolm's gaze almost passed by District Eleven's Chariot completely, as it had first looked empty. The only thing that had stood out amongst the muted colors was the crushed fruits and juicer that adorned the top of the structure. But upon closer inspection, standing in a nook of the structure was Hastiin Tsoh—the boy who Volunteered for interesting reasons.

Malcolm surveyed the boy curiously. He was the youngest Tribute this year, at 14 years old, and yet he had Volunteered to participate in the Hunger Games. He spoke very maturely during his Reaping, as well, and holds a haunted air of someone who has seen too much in his short life.

The boy, in the shadows of his Chariot, is also closely surveying the competition. After a few moments, Hastiin locked gazes with him.

The two boys stared at each other. Neither seemed to want to back down from the odd staring contest that had surfaced. Perhaps it was a show of strength, or dominance.

Hastiin broke his gaze first—because his District partner had stepped up on the Chariot, and seemed like she wanted to argue with him over something. Hastiin leaned away from her as much as he could in the enclosed space, seeming not particularly fond of Vamiya.

"_He shares that trait with me—I despise my own District partner as well_," Malcolm thought, giving a cursory glance at Vulca, who moodily stepped onto the Chariot.

"No luck with charming the strong competitors into being your protectors, I take it?" the Asian drawled sarcastically, knowing the answer from the irritated huff and crossed arms of the snobby girl.

"Shut it, Fritz," she growled—looking much less intimidating because of the flashing bright lights. Not that she was ever intimidating to begin with…

* * *

**Cerium Morgan, 16, D5**

Cerium tried to stay optimistic. Sure, she and Gavin were dressed as comical anthropomorphic barrels of toxic waste—but it could be worse.

For example, the tributes from Twelve were naked and covered in body paint. Three were dressed as coils of Christmas lights. Eight's theme seemed to be a mess of red yarn. Six were some sort of sexualized rabbit and bird—or was that supposed to be a bat?

Besides, the Chariots weren't the only place to make a good impression. There were the Private Sessions, where each Tribute held a score of their skills, as well as the Interviews.

But still, she would do her best to make the most of her situation. She and Gavin are going to be as charismatic, funny, and lovable as possible.

Which would be easy for Gavin. He was already all of those things, and was most likely a favorite in the Capitol. So it'll be _her_ that'll need to step up her a-game, to help their alliance.

Cerium watched as the last few Tributes that had been missing rushed into the room. District 9 were trying to run in their long, flowing, golden robes. The girl was doing a much better job, and had to keep helping the boy whenever he would trip.

Briar from Four had to have a stylist carry her fish-tail for her, as she rushed towards her sea-themed Chariot. She looked very pretty, dolled up as a mermaid, that she looked like the real deal.

Jonah from Eight was cursing up a storm, tripping on the long trails of red yarn and fabric he was draped in. His District partner scurried over to him, helping maneuver him onto their Chariot.

The boy from Four barely managed a running leap onto his Chariot, despite the ridiculously long merman's tail. Just as he landed, the doors at the front of the garage opened, signaling the start of the Chariot Rides.

"Let's not **waste** this opportunity, eh?" Gavin joked to her, sending his fellow brunette a wink.

Cerium gave him a smile, nerves calming with his warm presence. "We'll blow them away, for sure."

Gavin wrapped an arm around her shoulder, despite the bulkiness of their costumes, as the Chariots slowly moved forwards.

* * *

**Yohan Freesia, 16, D6**

Everything today had so far been incredibly uncomfortable.

And now Yohan was supposed to be paraded across the Capitol, on national television, in this ridiculous…_thing_ he was wearing, standing upon a tiny, moving chariot.

He wanted to hurl.

The Chariot's design wasn't helping. It was painted with skeletal black trees, and had some sort of trap hanging ominously above them.

It made him nervous. What could it mean? What could it stand for?

Was it to spell out their doom? Or his? Or perhaps, it was a hint at what the Arena had to offer?

Calisto nudged him with her elbow, causing him to jolt. She held strongly onto his elbow, flashing him a smile.

"C'mon, it's starting. Hold onto the rail in front and don't think about things going wrong, and you'll be fine, okay?" she told him reassuringly.

Yohan gave a jittery laugh, for once, incredibly nervous. A match to the death wasn't as nervewracking as being displayed in front of a roaring crowd of thousands, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with his a girl his age, and dressed in a ridiculous, skintight costume.

Although, Calisto had it worse. Their stylists decided to keep on going with the 'chocolate bunny' theme of her last name, and dressed her in a dark brown Playboy bunny costume—topped with floppy bunny ears and a little fluffy tail.

It didn't bother her, but it certainly bothered _him_. She was a cute girl literally dressed as an icon for a pornographic magazine, and he was a teenage boy, damn it. It was a **very** bad combo.

Yohan held a white-knuckled grip upon the safety rail in front of him, staring down at his atrocious costume. He was in some type of skintight leotard-slash-leather deal going on. He held a flowing black cape that was attached to his wrists, mimicking wings.

Was he a bird? No, that didn't seem quite right…

The Chariot jerked forwards, causing his stomach to flop, the need to hurl rising up once more. The creaking of the trap held at the top of the Chariot was all he could hear, before Yohan was hit with a defeaning wall of sound.

It was a trap. He was trapped.

An animal trap. That's what their Chariot was supposed to be.

Oh, and how accurate a trap it was…


	17. Chariot Rides: Novocaine

**AN**: I'm back, what uuuuuup. So, we get to hear from all the Victors who haven't had a POV yet, plus some of the Tributes that didn't get a POV last chapter. Fun stuff.

For those that didn't leave outfits on their forms for the Chariots I had..._fun_ making some of them up, as well as the theme for each Chariot itself.

The song's Novocaine by Fall Out Boy. Because I'm obsessed with their newest album and have been dying to use at least one if its songs \\_(ツ)_/

* * *

Chariot Rides: Novocaine

"_I'm just a problem that doesn't want to be solved,  
So could you please hold your applause?  
Take this sideshow and all its freaks,  
And turn it into the silver screen dream_."

* * *

**Angelica 'Angel' Shine, Victor of the 4****th**** Annual Hunger Games, D1**

Angel had decided to skip the usual little Victor gathering during the Tributes' prep time in order to talk with some important Capitolites. Starting early in gaining Sponsors would only help the Tributes from One, after all. Plus, she had a fondness for speaking with Capitol citizens over new fads and fashions.

When she won as a frightened little 12 year old, she'd thrown herself into Capitol life and fashion, soaking in it to forget the horrors of her Games. But the Capitol life—the glamour, the adoration, the clothes—it was something she quickly enjoyed. It wholeheartedly became a part of her. So much so that Angel actually wished that the Chariot Rides had been implemented when she'd been a Tribute.

Here, in the now, Angel enjoyed watching the event unfold. She wholeheartedly embraces the more entertainment aspects of the Hunger Games that President Monochrome implemented. The Chariot Rides, the grander Interviews, the Ball—they're things that would've made herself feel more at ease seventeen years ago, to help distract from the inevitability of death.

Some of her fellow Victors don't share her fondness of it. Hell, she knows that some of them think she's delusional for how invested she is to the Capitol's showmanship and way of life.

Oh well. As long as she had Mediah by her side, it didn't matter.

Angel shot her husband a bright smile, as Mediah sat beside her in the VIP section of the stands. The other Victors trickled into the roped-off section, set aside specifically for them.

Giving a cursory glance at the others, Angel noted that their newest addition was sitting with Buddy, Homini, and Sab. She turned her attention back to the hangar, petulantly not wanting to recognize the boy—because Tazmithius had survived, and not a child from One. To her, it wasn't fair that all of her husband's hard work was going to waste with every trained Career that died, even if she was being petty for putting blame on the newest Victor.

She'd get over it after a few days of being stuck with the other Victors. It was a process she simply went through every year, is all. And Tazmithius seemed like a sweet boy…

The blonde clapped excitedly, as the doors of the hangar opened. Soon, District One's Chariot rolled out of the building, pulled by a pair of white horses.

It was a magnificent thing, looking like pure marble, and mimicked a type of throne. At the top, there was a golden chalice that was overflowing with red wine painted upon the structure.

Angel cheered for her Tributes. They were dressed as a King and Queen, and looked stunning.

Devon was smiling charmingly and waving at the crowd. Ginny flipped her hair, a sly smile on her face as she waved regally to the cheering Capitolites. In unison, the two thrust their golden scepters in the air, igniting fierce screaming from their fans.

"They have such great costumes!" Angel squealed happily, bouncing in her seat, gaining a chuckle from her husband.

"I think this is a good sign for us," he answered honestly, a pleased smirk on his face, dipped over to give her a quick peck on the lips. Riyo made a sound of disgust at the display, causing him to snicker.

"We'll see—**Our** Chariot is rolling out, now," Riyo noted imperiously, adjusting her spectacles and leaning forwards slightly in her seat.

* * *

**Riyo Sato, Victor of the 14****th**** Annual Hunger Games, D2**

Riyo was a ball of stress. She had two incredibly juvenile, incredibly violent Tributes she had to deal with at once. Zie Volunteering hadn't been part of her careful plans, and she was causing many problems.

Thankfully, it seems like Zie had actually **listened** to Riyo's lectures of not messing up her prep team by biting them and/or inflicting psychological harm on them, because nothing seemed out of place in their costumes. The two teens were dressed in impressive obsidian armor, and looked like fierce warriors. They had helmets on their heads, and wielded large executioner's axes.

Yes, they were dressed as the threats they were. Despite their child-like mentalities, both were **very** dangerous. Not to mention that Isko's size put most to shame—even if that stupid, dog-like grin on his face seemed to throw intimidation out the window entirely.

No matter—the Capitolites will simply find it charming, since Isko actually **did** have a nice smile…Even if both of them would have looked **much** better if they had tried looking serious, to match their costumes.

Zie began swinging around her prop weapon, and Riyo sighed. "At least the weapons are made of foam," she noted, warily rubbing at her temples as the two started to laugh and attack each other playfully with their axes.

"The armor could have stopped the weapons…Perhaps," Eshana stated dully. "The guillotine could be another problem, however."

Above Two's structure was a guillotine that swung and jumped ominously with every movement of the Chariot. It looked like it was made of real metal, but Riyo hoped for everyone's sanity that it was simply an impressive paint job.

As District Three exited from the hangar, Yoshiro grumbled out, "The fuckers better be grateful they're tall…Put on some damn smiles, like I told them…" The pair of horses were palmino, and the Chariot seemed to be with a pattern of circuitry. Displayed at the top was a large electrical socket, and Riyo smirked at the reason why.

The two Tributes were dressed in black jumpsuits, flashing lights coiled around their forms. They both held sneers on their faces, obviously not enjoying their costumes. However, the girl was quick to plaster on a grin on her face as she began to wave at the crowd, trying to charm them. Conversely, Malcolm stubbornly stood there with his arms crossed.

Somewhere in their section of seats, Riyo heard Yoshiro curse and groan. "Why the **fuck** are they dressed like god damn Christmas lights?!" he exclaimed, watching in disgust as the lights cycled through the standard pre-set colors of the seasonal decorations. "It's fucking Spring right now, damn it! **Spring**!"

"Hoho_holy shit_," Woof commented, causing Kitty and young Taz to burst into laughter.

"Woof, I swear to **God**—"

"Not Santa Claus? He's more _chill_ and jolly."

"Frost, on Satan's fiery piss—"

"Yoshiro, just resign yourself to the fact that District Three will rarely have decent costumes," Riyo commented flippantly, as she turned slightly to address him. She gave a haughty smirk when he turned his glare on her.

"You two, please don't start fighting…" Mags noted with worry, looking between both of them, before Festus nudged her.

"Four's up," the wavy-haired man stated, and the motherly woman quickly turned her attention back to the parade.

* * *

**Festus Marsh, Victor of the 16****th**** Annual Hunger Games, D4**

Festus wondered what they'd dress up District Four in this year. In his ceremony, he'd been a sea creature. Past years have been things like pirates, sea gods, some type of water-sea-personification-thing, and even sharks. What type of special thing could be cooked up for this year, considering how a relative to a Victor was Reaped…?

Four's chariot rolled out, pulled by a pair of grey horses. The horses matched the Chariot's scene of rocks out at sea, a model of a crashed ship looming at the top of the Chariot.

Briar and Lex were a vivid contrast to the Chariot itself. They both held long fish's tail that were bright blue-green—a mermaid and merman.

Lex was shirtless and looked to have an entire container of hair gel dumped into his hairdo, with many little seashells present—but seemed to be taking the mortifying parts of his costume like a champ. He was grinning and waving at everyone, his muscles on full display, and the pitch of the crowd's shrieks grew in octave and intensity.

Meanwhile, Briar was breathtaking, looking like she stepped out of a story book. Her hair was carefully curled, decorated by pearls and seashells. She had on a type of crop top that was shaped like a large wave, that wrapped around her and down her tail, covering up much more than he'd imagined. It was very modest, to his relief; he wasn't sure what he would have done if they stuck her in a seashell bikini.

The thought of people ogling Briar when she was scantily clad made Festus want to break something.

Briar had on much more makeup than Lex, but it was mostly blue waves that were painted on the edges of her face. Still, it looked like Four's Stylists were incredibly fond of body glitter, because both teens looked like they had bathed in the stuff.

Mags, sitting the right of Festus, gave a relieved sigh. "It's good that they didn't stick her in a bikini," she murmured.

Festus nodded, not taking his eyes off of the Chariot. "Could've been a lot worse," he agreed.

"They could be naked," Eshana stated, on Festus's left. "And covered in coal dust."

Her comment caused most of the Victors to cringe in second-hand embarrassment, pity, sympathy, and agreement as they remembered that fateful year where Twelve suffered through such a fate.

"Please be coal miners, please be coal miners," Sab chanted furiously under his breath, crossing his fingers for his Tributes.

District Five emerged, the cheering lowering significantly since the boy was not half-naked and muscled. Both tributes were dressed as barrels of toxic waste. The girl's costume was more like a short dress on her, while the boy's went from his chest down to the floor, with only his feet poking out.

Gavin had his arm around Cerium's shoulders, despite the cumbersome costume, and the two of them were smiling and waving at the crowd. They were doing well in being charismatic, despite the comical costumes. The Chariot had nuclear power plants painted on it, and there was a yellow hazard sign above them.

"At least they're _powering_ through this and not _wasting_ the opportunity," Frost intoned quietly after a small sigh—which wasn't even a sigh, just an exhale through his nose. Sighing and showing emotions was rare in the albino man, who was a large mystery to everyone, bar Creselia.

"I suppose they'll both be seen as the normal ones, or comic relief. We always need those in a story," Creselia intoned, in her usual dreamy tone of voice.

"What story?" Taz asked curiously, a look of confusion on his face.

"Don't ask her questions, kid," Yoshiro answered. "Helps keep your sanity intact."

* * *

**Red Cymn, Victor of the 7****th**** Annual Hunger Games, D7**

Red watched as District Six's Chariot rolled out, pulled by one brown and one black horse. Besides him, Sirona gave a groan of disappointment at their costumes, burying her face in her hands.

Red rubbed the woman's back comfortingly, concerned for her wellbeing. Sirona's gone the longest Mentoring alone, and every disappointment piling on top of her only makes her more tired and broken.

"A Playboy bunny and spandex bat man…Of all the things…" she said drearily. Red simply staid silent, not wanting to point out the concerning fact that a steel animal trap was swinging above her Tributes, and could drop on them if the rope broke.

Lehvant, of course, wasn't one to keep her opinions to herself to spare another's feelings. "Sirona, your boy looks about ready to faint and topple off the Chariot at any second," she noted dryly. Red shot her a stern look when Sirona gave a cry of concern, to which his fellow Sevenese responded with a roll of her eyes.

"Let's hope he can fly with those wings of his, eh?" Woof joked weakly, getting a small terrified sound from Sirona and a whack on the arm by Kitty.

"Bad timing, Woof," Kitty chided him, causing the jokester to give an awkward chuckle.

"Look, Calisto is still doing well," Red noted quietly, trying to cheer Sirona up. "I'm sure she'll look out for Yohan and make sure nothing happens to him."

He couldn't comfort his friend any longer, as Seven soon entered the parade. Everything was its usual chesnut brown color, but surprisingly enough, they weren't tree themed like almost every year. Actually, his Tributes weren't wearing anything green whatsoever.

Flynn and Tomoki were dressed in what Red realized were bear suits, hard to discern from the fuzziness of the material and short length of Flynn's costume. The ears and comically large paw gloves, however— along with the bee hive that hung above them that looked to be dripping honey—helped him identify the theme.

At least the President would be happy with Seven's Chariot, Red noted to himself. Tenebris Monochrome's favorite animal was bears.

Lehvant scoffed in disgust at the Chariot, however. "That is the poorest excuse for a bear costume I have ever seen—and they should have access to **real** bear pelts to work with! I should know—I've killed enough bears to clothe an entire parade…"

"At least they're not trees again?" Red supplied, although he felt rather embarrassed for his Tribute. Tomoki was fully swathed in his costume, while Flynn seemed to only have half the material used in hers, if that.

"They managed to sexualize **bears**, Red," Lehvant rebuked angrily. "One of the most fierce creatures roaming the Districts, in which the females can destroy dozens of men to protect her cubs."

"How em_bear_assing," Woof noted. Lehvant turned sharply to give him a potent glare, and the brunette shrunk back. "Okay, yeah, that was a bad joke…"

"Lehvant, _honey_, you need to _cool down_," Frost deadpanned. Red stared wide-eyed between the albino and Lehvant, wondering what the fallout would be, considering Lehvant's personality.

Lehvant, however, merely scoffed. "Watch the endearments, or you'll make my husband jealous," she stated sarcastically. After a pause, she added, "Amusing joke, by the way."

"Thank you."

"Oh come on—and **mine** wasn't funny?" Woof whined with a pout.

"No," Frost and Lehvant answered in unison.

"Aw…"

* * *

**Madras Ling, 18, D8**

"Our costumes are fucking awful," Jonah stated irately, wrinkling his nose as he tried to adjust the wayward pieces of red fabric arranged on him.

Noting how one section of his costume looked to be unraveling by his efforts, Madras nervously smacked his hands away and arranged it back in place, despite his cry of surprise.

"P-Please stop messing with it, or it'll come apart," Madras said, hooking the costume back together by the hidden pins with quick, expert fingers. "We're almost in the parade, so we should, um, be ready."

"I'd be more ready if our costumes weren't going to come apart like some toddlers' shoestrings, when they can't tie their shoes right," the boy huffed. "Seriously, we look like we crashed into a damn fabric store and—"

Madras stiffened, and Jonah stopped in his tirade, realizing what he was saying when it was too late.

"Oh, shit—Madras, I…I'm sorry, fuck, I didn't think—" Jonah said, trying to backpedal, to not remind her of the Ling Tailor's being trashed and her parents killed. He reached out to touch her shoulder, but she gripped his wrist before he could.

"It's fine," she stated curtly, returning his hand back to the protective rail in front of them. She blinked furiously, staring down at her own bone-white hands that were clenching the rail.

She wouldn't cry. Not know. Not when the parade was one of the few times where she can try and win back favor with Sponsors, having fallen apart bawling at the Reapings.

She could break down when she was safe in her bedroom. But not in public again, where there were cameras watching her every move, waiting to pounce on a show of weakness.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she brought her head up, and squared her shoulders. Two heartbeats later, their vehicle exited to the bright lights and roaring Capitolites.

Madras forced a smile on her face, waving tentatively to the crowd. She was good at hiding her problems from Cotton, so she'll do her damn best to hide her weakness from the viewers, from this point forwards.

* * *

**Liseli Avere, 18, D9**

Her District partner was slowly freaking the fuck out, so the job landed on **her** to try and calm him down.

Considering how much of a wreck he was, that was a tall order. But everyone seemed to assume that it was something she was capable of doing, that it was somehow her **job**.

The cold fact was that she threw people under the bus, in order to keep herself above trouble. If it would benefit her, she'd let him flounder.

But for now, the pros in helping him outweighed the cons. He was oddly attached and loyal to her, for one. And then, a good impression in the Chariots would help their District. If Azrael ever died, then Liseli would be the one to gain all the Sponsorship money.

Also, there was the fact that Azrael's erratic behavior was starting to throw her off her game. She was worried that he'd do something stupid— like fall off the Chariot, at this rate, he was so jittery.

"Calm down, Azrael," she hissed, grabbing his shoulder.

"I—sorry," he squeaked. "B-But…Oh God, we're moving, oh shit, oh shit—"

"Just hold onto something, and you won't fall," she counseled him, voice steady and calm. Her unoccupied hand clenched onto the protective rail in her grasp, as if convincing herself the truth of her advice.

"Deep, calming breaths… That's it, good," she soothed, moving the boy through motions in calming himself down. "We'll be out soon, so try to put on a smile, alright? Be charming, or something—don't give the look of a kicked puppy."

Azrael grimaced, but tentatively arranged his face into a small, shy smile. Liseli nodded in assent, giving him a grin and a thumbs up. "Good, keep it up. Maybe do a little waving, too."

She turned forwards, seeing Eight's Chariot leave the confines of the hangar, readying herself to bring up her charisma to the forefront. But suddenly, Azrael gripped her hand tightly in his.

She whirled her head to look at him, but he was nervously looking away from her, his face pink. "S-Sorry, but you said that if I held onto something, I won't fall, and…I feel safest holding onto you."

A wall of sound hit Liseli a few heartbeats after, so she turned her attention to the crowds instead, pushing a smile and believable energy to the forefront. Azrael holding her hand, she could work with; it'll show that they got along together. Plus, with their hands intertwined, she wouldn't have to constantly worry about him falling off the Chariot.

The warmth of his skin was also nice, an anchor amongst the dizzying crowds of Capitolites.

* * *

**Frost Raider, Victor of the 6****th**** Annual Hunger Games, D5**

Frost watched impassively as Eight entered the parade. The Tributes both looked ridiculous, waving and smiling while swathed in intertwining red string and strips of cloth. They looked like kittens who have fallen into a bin of string and scrap cloth.

Or perhaps a more fitting analogy was that they were marionettes who've been tangled in their own string, useless cast-offs ready to be binned or thrown in a wood chipper.

But there was always a chance that they could surprise him. There are rare times that he's been wrong of certain Tribute's fates. Red, Mags, Wolfgang, and Tazmithius—those were four Victors he had never predicted to win, and yet somehow managed to stay alive through a mixture of skill and luck.

As if to punctuate this trail of thought, Woof spoke up. "Geeze, and I thought **my** Chariot outfit was a hot mess…"

"I feel like they stopped trying this year," Kitty agreed, with a cringe. "Good thing Madras is a tailor, or else they would've gotten tangled up by now."

Eight's Chariot was painted to resemble a loom, and a large pair of scissors hung over the Tributes. Not as ominous as Two's guillotine, or Six's animal trap, but the underlying meaning of doom was there. Scissors to cut the red string of fate, or the string of one's life?

Either way, Eight would be cut down to size, spilling blood as red as their costumes.

The albino tilted his head to the side, watching Nine emerge. Their horses were the color of wheat, as usual—and the Tributes held the same theme. They were swathed in long, golden robes. The girl had short sleeves, and her robe looked more like a trailing dress, but the difference wasn't as sexualized as some of the other Districts.

The girl was smiling and waving in a very charming manner. The boy shrunk back, only giving a small, nervous smile to the crowds. The two were holding hands.

"Wheat," Niveus rasped, rubbing at the side of his face tiredly. "Could be worse."

"Hey—at least your Tributes are _golden_, eh?" Woof hooted, startling a bark of laughter from the haunted man.

Nine's Chariot was rather standard, although it held a large replica of a scythe on its side, firmly attached to the structure. Either the scythe represented the Tributes—wheat—getting cut down, or it represented the Grim Reaper. The Tributes held robes, and reaping was a term of a harvest.

How clever. Frost felt like he should congratulate whoever thought of that sly play-on-words.

It was like a pun—and he liked puns.

Puns were rather _cool_.

"_That was a pretty __**chill**__ pun, Frost_," he thought to himself. "_Thanks, Frost—just staying __**frosty**_."

The albino quietly blinked back into attention, seeing Ten emerge. The perks of wearing sunglasses; it always seems like you're watching, and no one knows otherwise.

Ten's Chariot was a painted forest scene, with a mounted elk head. For whatever reason, the Livestock District decided to go a route of its rare forest game instead of its usual farm animals.

The boy was dressed as a cowboy, barring a shirt, and toting a model of a hunting rifle. The girl had on a short skirt made of leather straps, sleeveless jacket made of spotted deer skin, and long furry boots. Makeup on her face made her look like a deer, and the look was topped off with a headband holding what appeared to be real antlers.

"Awwwww, she looks so cute!" Taz gushed, giving a giggle.

Clovis was sneering at the crowd, before turning and prodding Mattie with his prop. She glowered at him, and began bickering with him. Soon enough, the two were passive-aggressively shoving the other with their shoulders, as they waved to the crowd.

Clovis gave the redhead another shove of his weapon, on her back—which ended in Mattie going over the protective rail of the Chariot headfirst.

The crowd gasped, Taz's cry like an alarm siren, as the girl fell over the rail. She bellyflopped hard onto one of the horses, causing the animal to whinny in alarm and rear up, bucking up on its hind legs.

This, of course, caused the other horse to start panicking, and the Chariot to come to a sudden halt. Mattie was holding on strongly, despite her horse rearing up frantically, looking ready to buck her off. After a few seconds, she managed to situate herself properly on the horse, hands tight on its reigns. Maneuvering herself with a swiftness and proficiency that spoke of experience, the girl managed to calm her steed, as well as grip onto the other and calm it as well.

The disaster only lasted a few seconds. Soon, the Chariot moved back on its prior course—with Mattie riding one of the horses, waving at the crowd on her perch on the animal.

The crowd roared loudly in approval; many chants of _Mattie Wilde_ could be heard throughout the air.

Taz was out of his seat, jumping up and down, pumping his fists in excitement. "She did it! She did it!" he yelled jubilantly. "Whoooooo! You go, Mattie!"

Buddy, meanwhile, sank back down in his seat with a relieved sigh, a hand held on his chest. "Thank the Lord—it turned out alright."

No sooner had the blonde said that, the youngest Victor became bombarded by enthusiastic Capitolites who wanted to Sponsor Mattie after the debacle

"Holy shit—that's **one** way to get Sponsors," Yoshiro noted idly, his eyebrows disappearing into his messy hair.

* * *

**Kitrina 'Kitty' Mordant, Victor of the 11****th**** Annual Hunger Games, D8**

Kitty gave a low whistle as the girl from Ten managed to turn a disaster into a miracle. The girl would be getting even more Sponsors than her truck-like District partner from that stunt.

But Eleven's Chariot was going to come out next. And she was going to pay extra attention to it, because Homini had asked her help with her female Tribute, Vamiya.

Homini was a strong girl physically, but she just didn't have the emotional strength to handle a girl like Vamiya. Maybe Kitty could give her answers and advice when it came to Vamiya's flirty nature.

After all, Kitty used to be—**is**, because of Tenebris Monochrome, the bastard—a prostitute. She's also naturally flirty, and knows all about being sultry and sexy. As long as she sees the girl in action with her own eyes, she can figure out some advice for Homini.

Brown horses clopped out, signaling the entrance of District Eleven to the parade. The structure held muted colors, barring the colorful crushed fruits and fruit juicer adorning the top of the Chariot.

The two Tributes were dressed in leaves, adorned with plastic fruits. Tress, from Eleven's orchard's? Ironic that **they** were trees, and Seven hadn't been for this year.

The boy held a blank face, looking around curiously, but seemed to not be in wonder like a stereotypical little kid. Hell, he didn't even look like he had an angle whatsoever.

Now, the girl—that's who Kitty scrutinized. She was doing the whole sultry act that Kitty had used, alright. Either she was a god damn good actress, or she wholeheartedly enjoyed what she was doing, because she sure was enthusiastic.

After a few short seconds, the girl started to mess with her costume. She plucked off leaves from the top of her incredibly short dress, looking like she was…trying to rip it off?!

The boy, however, had realized this at the same time, and gripped Vamiya's wrists, halting her.

"Oh _no_," Homini groaned, burying her face in her hands. "I can't watch."

"I can see why you've had trouble with her, Homini," Kitty told the younger girl—who merely gave a pitiful whine of shame. "From what I can tell, it isn't even an act. She literally wants to be a big, well…slut. Wow."

"I dunno, I think it takes a certain type of skill," Woof noted, staring at the two fighting Tributes from Eleven in bile fascination. "Like, being sexy and flirty? Sure. Okay. No problem with that. You like what you like, and you do what you gotta do."

"Wanting to literally strip naked in front of thousands of people, on national television, when you're underaged? Yeaaaaah, that's kinda…" he trailed off.

"Incredible," Kitty finished. "Incredible in a very wrong way."

"Sure, let's go with that…"

"I've been blessed with Hastiin, but cursed with Vamiya…" Homini groaned, her head popping up to glare up at the sky. "I'm getting mixed signals, here, Lord."

* * *

**Hastiin Tsoh, 14, D11**

Entering the parade was overwhelming. Especially for someone as reserved and introverted as he was.

Hastiin stayed back, close to the bulk of the Chariot. He didn't smile or wave whatsoever—that's just what the Capitol wants of the Tributes.

The Capitol **wants** them to jump though every hoop and try and put on a show for them, like a bunch of dogs doing tricks. The Capitol wants the Tributes to lay down and do whatever it takes to gain their favor, and Hastiin would not have any of it. He had his pride, damn it, and he had his beliefs.

Hastiin was dry and boring; that's just how he was. The Capitol will just have to deal with it. He wasn't going to change himself just to win their attention.

So Hastiin merely stared out at the crowds. Sure, it may have been a little wide-eyed at the sheer volume and amount of people, but he wasn't playing the angle of a stereotypical little kid.

He's witnessed a lot of awful things in his life; naivety and innocence died a long time ago.

A loud rustling sounded next to him, and Hastiin looked over to see what the hell his District partner was up to. She was ripping off leaves from the top of her short dress.

Wait—was she trying to strip it off?!

Hastiin lunged at her, gripping her wrists with his hands, in order to halt her. "Vamiya, what the **hell** are you doing?" he hissed at her, pulling her hands away from her costume.

"I should be asking **you** that!" the girl spit back, struggling against his strong hold. "Let me go, brat!"

"What—so you can embarrass and dishonor our District?" he scoffed. "Eleven is seen as a disgusting place full of simple-minded blacks, and you want to go and worsen our **already** low image?"

"I don't give a **shit** about our District!" she screeched, wrenching her hands away from his, giving him a strong shove on his shoulder. "Now stop getting in my way, you useless piece of—Shut up!"

"I didn't say anything yet," Hastiin said dryly, narrowing his eyes at her. He quickly grabbed one of her wrists, when her hand strayed back to her costume. "Now, if you can stop being such an awful person—"

"No wonder you're such a stupid virgin, if you treat girls like this!" Vamiya sneered at him, shoving his shoulder again with her unoccupied hand.

"I usually don't. Just you," Hastiin deadpanned, forcing himself not to roll his eyes. "Maybe if you kept the psychoticness down to a manageable level—"

"I'm not psychotic!" she snarled.

"Yes, because your actions just **scream** '_well-adjusted, average teenage girl_'. I'm **sure** talking to yourself is a great sign, as well—"

"Stop ruining everything! First the Train, and now this—"

"_Excuse_ me? **I** wasn't the one trying to abuse my District partner."

"Yeah, and _manhandling_ a girl is painting such a great picture for you!"

"At least I'm not a sexual offender that jumps anything that happens to be male!" he finally snapped, showing his frustration with her. "You're rich—daughter of the owners of the flower shop—so how in the everlasting **hell** did you end up like **this**?!"

"Like _this_?" she hissed. "What do you mean, _like this_?!"

"Obviously, you're not intelligent enough to know what I'm implying," he deadpanned, giving a scoff and turning away from her. "I'll let you figure that out by yourself…By the way, the parade's ended."

After a few silent seconds, his District partner unleashed a string of curses, and stomped her foot like a petulant child. Hastiin couldn't help the small smirk that flickered on his face.

* * *

**Sabbath 'Sab' Rubble, Victor of the 18****th**** Annual Hunger Games, D12**

The Victor from Twelve gave a disappointed groan as his Tributes entered the parade. "Damn it! I was hoping they'd be coal miners!"

Twelve's Chariot and horses were black, like every year. The structure was painted like a glowing furnace. Canteen and Ashia were naked, covered in body paint to emulate smoke.

"At least it looks better, and covers more, than coal dust?" Buddy tried to comfort the man.

"That's not the **point**," the burly, dark-skinned man groaned, passing a hand over his face tiredly.

He gave a grim smile as he watched his Tributes. Ashia was meek, shrinking back to a corner of the Chariot, covering herself self-consciously with her notebook and hands. Canteen didn't care about his costume—or lack thereof. He was jumping about the Chariot, smiling goofily and waving to everyone.

Well, at least Canteen's trying to keep interest of Sponsors. Ashia was a lost cause. They'd have to bank on her doing decently in the Private Sessions— or somehow pulling out a miracle during the Interviews to be remembered, despite her small size and withdrawn personality.

But he wouldn't give up on them. On either of them. They could surprise everyone, and do well in the Arena itself. There was always a chance.

* * *

**Flynn Caltier, 15, D7**

With sharp eyes, Flynn looked around at the ring of Chariots that were in the square, in front of the President's mansion.

Animal had distracted her when she was trying to catch everyone's costumes in the hangar. But now, she could look at all the screens at the costumes displayed, as well as simply look to the others Chariots that had halted. She could see near everyone's expressions, try and gauge how they felt.

The Capitol's anthem played loud and clear. Turning her attention back to the front, at the mansion, Flynn saw the President of Panem for the first time, with her very own eyes.

The Asian man was in one of his penchant black-and-white designed suits, a shit-eating grin unfurling on his absurdly smooth face. His beady eyes gleamed as he surveyed the Chariots.

The man's gaze lingered on Seven's Chariot. Flynn felt her heart thunder in fear inside her chest, as the man stared at her, giving a small chuckle, before moving on. The thundering of applause from the Capitolites surrounded her, pressing down on her.

A primal emotion was welling inside her. Flight. She wanted to just leave already—to never be out in public with all these monsters who thirsted for the blood of young teenagers.

Tenebris Monochrome finally raised a hand, for silence. The crowds died down in only a few heartbeats. The man gave a sharp-toothed smile, extending both his arms out.

"Welcome, welcome, Tributes!" he called out. "To the heart of the Capitol city of Panem, as well as my magnificent mansion!"

"I'm sure you, Tributes, are all ready for this event to come to a close. In the next coming days, you will have much more to see, much more to experience, while you are all still in our care."

"So, I'll make this quick, don't you worry," the man laughed, a laugh so chilling that Flynn felt like she was dunked into a pile of snow in mid-winter. "I'm sure you are all _dying_ for the Games to start, but I **do** hope you enjoy the luxuries of our glorious Capitol for the time you are here."

"Now—I bring this festivity to an official close! We will be waiting to see you once more, in the Interviews, Tributes. May the odds be _ever_ in your favor!" With those parting words, President Monochrome raised a glass of red wine in salute to the Tributes.

The procession back into the hangar started, although much faster than before. Flynn had just enough time to throw on a small smile and give a do a bit of lackluster waving, before she was back inside the large garage-like building, away from the prying eyes of the Capitol citizens.

Feeling incredibly tired, Flynn said not a word to her District partner, trudging off the Chariot and towards an elevator.

She hoped the Interviews wouldn't be as cumbersome as the Chariot Rides. They were a hell of an event.

* * *

**Gavin Cox, 18, D5**

Gavin tried to jump off his Chariot. Problem was, his costume was bulky, and didn't have much maneuverability.

So he ended up falling and belly-flopping onto the ground. The roundness of his barrel caused him to roll around, as he flailed his arms in the air.

"Gavin!" Cerium exclaimed in concern, as she looked down at him from the edge of the Chariot. She looked so terrified, that Gavin instantly felt bad in making her feel worried.

So, to ease the tension, he cracked a joke.

"I thought I was on a _roll_ before—but this is getting ridiculous!" he said, giving a bit of a laugh as he looked up at her, flat on his back. His district partner gave a small giggle.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked softly, smiling fondly at him as she hovered at the edge of the Chariot.

He flashed her a big grin. "I didn't break anything, which would probably end in a bit of a disaster, eh?"

The rooster-haired boy then tried to do a sit-up, to get back up again, but only accomplished in thunking back down again. He used his arms in the next attempt, managing to get off the floor a good distance, before he tipped and fell backwards on the floor once more.

Gavin frantically waved his arms around. "Gaaaaaah, someone help me! I'm like a turtle on it's back, right here!"

Despite the situation, he laughed as he kept wriggling on the floor, which caused Cerium to laugh at the ridiculousness.

"Well, I'd help you, but…" she trailed off, gesturing to her own costume. "I feel like trying to jump off like you will end up in me rolling around next to you."

"I wouldn't be rolling around if maybe I mutated from the nuclear waste from just a simple turtle, you know," he said, giving an exaggerated pout. "I'd be kickass, if I was turned into a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle!"

"That's a good idea for next year, actually," commented Gavin's Head Stylist, who rushed forwards to help him up. It took another member of the Prep Team to held Gavin get properly on his own feet, without tipping over again.

Cerium's Prep Team carefully helped her step off the Chariot as well. A few seconds after both Tributes were safely situated on the ground, their Escort arrived from a frantic sprint, despite her high heels.

"Are you both okay?" Chartruese asked, hovering over the two teens, quickly dusting them off. "I saw Gavin being picked up from the ground, so it looked like he fell and, oh God, if Gavin fell that means he's injured, and injuries are bad bad bad—"

"I'm okay, really!" Gavin said, waving the Escort's efforts away to check him for injuries. "For now, I just kinda want to get out of this costume."

"Yes, yes, of course," the green-blonde haired woman said quickly. "Come now, let's take you both to Five's suite." The short woman led the way to an elevator, ushering her Tributes into it. "Just press the number 5, dears—I have to go speak to a few persons. I'll be back in the suite in a few minutes."

Before the brunette pair could say anything, the woman rushed out. The two were awkwardly left alone with the pair from Four inside the elevator. The Prep Teams went to either take another elevator, or probably to do something with the Chariots.

"And I thought having a damn fish tail would make it hard to walk in," Lex muttered as he shot a cursory glance at the Five pair. He crossed his arms, leaning against the back wall of the elevator.

Gavin had the odd feeling that the guy was sizing him up. Which was weird, since Lex obviously had bigger muscles. Holy shit, that kid had some good biceps and pecs…

"Oh, um…I like your guys's costumes," Cerium said, after a few seconds of awkward silence. "Mermaids, like from stories."

Briar gave Cerium and Gavin warm smiles. "Ah, thank you. Personally, I feel like I'll never be able to get off the body glitter…"

"But it's so pretty!" Cerium exclaimed, giving a grin at the other girl.

The elevator stopped, giving a loud _ding!_ to signal that it reached its location. Gavin had actually forgotten he was inside an elevator, it was such a quick, smooth trip.

"That's us," Briar said, holding her tail and taking careful, small steps towards the open doors. "See you in Training, tomorrow."

"Ah! Yes, see you in Training," Cerium quickly said, giving a smile back to the blonde girl as Briar and Lex exited the elevator.

"Well…That was interesting," Gavin noted, as the elevator moved and stopped at the next floor.

* * *

**Briar Indigo, 15, D4**

"We've arriiiiived," Lex called out lazily, as the two slowly hobbled into the suite.

Before she could react, a familiar blonde rushed forwards and hugged Briar. "You two were so great in the Chariot Rides!" Mags exclaimed, before leaning back. "Do you need help getting out of your costume…?"

"Yes please," Briar sighed, causing her aunt to give a laugh.

After a very tedious hour of removing her costume and makeup, Briar and Mags left to the living room. Festus and Lex were already there—and they were already bickering.

"Ya literal dumb-fuck!" Festus exclaimed, whacking the boy on the head.

"Hey! Watch the hair!" Lex exclaimed, ducking down and covering his head with one of his arms.

"I can't **believe** ya went all macho-alpha-manly when ya met up with the other Careers, and tried to unsurp their leadership!" Festus fumed, before throwing his hands up in exasperation. "You know what? No, I'm not—I'm not surprised whatso-fuckin'-ever. This has you written aaaaaall over it."

"Hey—not **my** fault the Ones started pushing us all around from the get-go like some pretentious snobs!" Lex shot back, a scowl on his face.

Briar felt lost, looking back and forth between the two brunette males. Without the proper context, she didn't know what to think.

"Is there trouble in the Career pack already?" Mags asked in concern, a frown forming on her face.

"Just mister merman here bein' an arrogant prick," Festus drawled, giving a dramatic roll of his eyes as he jabbed a thumb at Lex.

"If you just **listened** to the entire story, you'd know that the Careers smoothed it all over," Lex sniped back at the man.

He turned to Mags, giving her a charming grin. "We're all doing fine, actually. Devon and Ginny are co-leading, and Zie and Boom just want to follow. I backed down from questioning their authority, and I'll follow them; no need to worry."

"Oh…That's, um—that's good," Briar offered, forcing a small smile to give to Lex. Tensions in the Career Pack would have been a **very** good thing for her, and the rest of the Tributes. But if somehow they're getting along well…

"Good luck with that, Lex," Festus deadpanned, a smirk forming on his face. Briar quickly snapped her attention to him, hoping for some assurance that the Career Pack wouldn't be a well-oiled machine that could wipe out the rest of them.

"Ya **do** realize that Zie'll never fall for your looks, right?" Festus said, giving a snicker. "And Ginny looks strong enough to fight it off, too. So, yeah. Good luck with that."

Lex was rendered speechless, his mouth opening and closing. Briar also felt a bit baffled. What girl _wouldn't_ find Lex good-looking…?

Lex finally just gave a scoff. "Whatever. We'll see, tomorrow. You're just sore that you weren't able to wrap your allies around your finger in your own Games."

At this, Festus bared his teeth. "You narcissistic, arrogant little **prick**. I'm gonna—"

Giving a laugh, Lex ran out of the room, his Mentor hot on his tail. Briar blinked owlishly at the suddenness of their disappearance.

Her aunt gave a sigh, shaking her head fondly. "Festus really needs to reign in his temper…" she said, before turning to her niece, giving her a wink. "Let's go get some hot chocolate, and have a little girl time."

Briar gave a bright grin, latching onto her aunt's hand. "Deal."


	18. Training Day 1: Team

**AN**: We're now officially in the first day of Training! Sorry if it's so Career-heavy, but the Career alliance is full of drama llamas. The other Tributes get much more attention in the next parts, so don't fret if they didn't get mentioned/ a POV this chapter.

I'm so happy, because this story's hit 100k words and 100 reviews mark. Plus, it's now taking up 300 pages on my Word document! Thanks everyone for the support for this story :)

Also, shout-out to Hastiin's creator, historiafan8763, for the idea of the interaction between Zie and Lex.

* * *

Training Day 1: Team

"_We live in cities you'll never see on screen,  
Not very pretty, but we sure know how to run things,  
Living in ruins, of a palace within my dreams,  
And you know, we're on each other's team_."

* * *

**Malcolm Fritz, 17, D3**

Malcolm was awake rather early that day. After all, today was the first of three days of Training, and he wanted to be punctual.

It seems like his District partner, on the other hand, had other plans.

The tall boy casual leaned against the wall next to his door, watching his Mentor bang angrily on Vulca's door.

"Get the fuck up! Training's today, and you need to get your ass down there at 8!" Yoshiro yelled.

"Shut **up** and let me sleep, already!" Vulca howled in response. There came a thump at the door—she most likely threw a pillow at it in irritation.

Malcolm sighed. Typical Vulca. Once a spoiled brat, always a spoiled brat. God knows how her family has put up with her for 17 years.

"It is pointless to stand here and watch your failing attempts. I'm going to go and eat breakfast. I will leave without her, if I must," the boy scoffed, righting himself and striding down the hall. He gave a nod at the navy-haired Escort, who was nearing Yoshiro—most likely to reign the temperamental man in, and coax Vulca out of her room.

The last thing the boy heard was a scandalized screech of "Get **out** of my room!".

* * *

**Yohan Freesia, 16, D6**

Yohan had awakened that morning, feeling much calmer than the previous night. Without thousands of people scrutinizing him and creating a loud cacophony, he was much more confident of his abilities.

After all, his specialty was blending into the background, gathering information of his targets before he struck. He'll underplay himself, before slowly taking out the competition from the shadows.

He'll bring justice upon these sinful Games, and no one will see what hit them.

After putting on the uniform for training—a green tunic with an odd maze-like pattern on the back, with the District number sewn on both sleeves, and black pants made of comfortable material—Yohan went to the dining room to eat breakfast. There, the rest of the entourage awaited.

"I wonder what we'll be doing for Training?" Calisto asked right away, a wide grin on her face. Yohan paused, a large piece of bacon halfway to his mouth.

"I assume they have different skills for us to learn," the boy muttered, shoving the bacon in his mouth. Mmmmm, pig corpse. Delicious.

Yohan had to stifle a chuckle at his morbid thoughts.

"I'm sure we'll figure it out, then," Calisto laughed, before taking a drink of orange juice. "We've got 3 days. We'll pick up **something**."

As they finished their breakfasts, and were ushered into the elevator by their energetic Escort, Yohan had a realization.

Calisto considered them a team. She kept referring to the two as 'we'.

With a rising amount of wonder and horror, Yohan noted that he was doing something similar. He'd said 'us', before. _Us_, as in, _together_.

The boy cursed himself. He was getting much too attached to his District partner. And they **couldn't** work together, because he worked **alone**. His entire strategy banked on it.

Calisto was too loud, too energetic, and too **reckless**. She would wreck his plans to Hell, if they kept sticking together. His track record was only as high as it was, because he caught the scum he went after off-guard, and didn't fight them head-on.

"Yohan, c'mon! Don't just stand there!" Calisto chirped, dragging the boy from his thoughts. Literally.

Yohan almost tripped and fell flat on his face, from Calisto surging forwards wilst tugging on his scrawny arm. Her grip on him kept him from doing so, but still.

"Uh…Thanks?" he muttered, discreetly trying to tug himself away from her, to little avail.

She's probably had experience dragging boys around, from her…_boyfriends_. Plural, apparently. She yammered on about them enough that Yohan realized that somehow, the three best friends were in a relationship together. And that it somehow **works**.

Lucky bastards.

"Hey, it's no biggie," Calisto shrugged, a bright grin on her face. "That's what allies are for, eh?"

Yohan's entire body stiffened, staring at her with wide eyes. Calisto merely stared back, her chocolate brown eyes expectant.

Fate must really hate him. The **one** time he didn't need a companion, he got it. Where the hell was Calisto when he was a bullied little kid? Seven-year-old Yohan would've jumped at the chance of having her as a friend.

"…Sure," Yohan said weakly, after a long, awkward pause. He scratched nervously at the back of head, face pink, when the girl beamed with happy fondness.

He'll probably need to alter his plans a bit, then, with Calisto deciding to ally with him. The second he'd been Reaped, he didn't expect anyone would want **him**, of all people, as a companion.

It felt…oddly nice, for whatever reason.

* * *

**Madras Ling, 18, D8**

Madras fidgeted, body withdrawn as her eyes flickered across the rest of the gathered Tributes.

Groups were already forming. There was the indimidating 5-Tribute Career Pack near the front. Some District partners were stick together, like the ones from Five and Six.

Everyone looked so much bigger and stronger than her…She was very tiny, despite being 18. Curse her Asian genes, making her so petite…!

Finally, the last District pair burst from the elevator into the large, gym-like room. District Ten. They were snarling at each other, before pointedly stalking off in opposite directions.

Madras shivered. Both of them were strong, hot-headed, and violent. With their constant clashing, it's no wonder they arrived last.

There came a pointed clap from the front of the gathered group. A dark-skinned woman in her late 20s strolled onto a raised platform that was no doubt used for sparring.

"A'ight, Tributes. I be the Head Trainer of the Training Center. The name's Onika," the woman said loudly. She had a pink cap on her obviously dyed blonde hair, and wore bright clothes.

Someone gave a low whistle—the boy from Seven—no doubt because the woman's chest was on display, only wearing a ridiculously rainbow-patterned bra.

"I swear, that happens every damn year," Onika stated ruefully, giving a shake of her head. "Listen, kids—you treat me with respect, listen to my rules, and there won't be no trouble. Got it?"

"What are you going to do if we don't then?" Jonah drawled sarcastically, his arms crossed. "Are you going to put us in time-out, in the corner?" he asked, a smirk on his face. His confidence bolstered, when at least half the group snickered, or made some type of amused response.

"No—the issues get settled with either the Peacekeepers, or me," the woman stated seriously. "There's a reason that I be the Head Trainer, and it ain't just for my looks. I've beaten Victors Riyo and Festus in countless spars."

At that statement, the group stopped their amused air, and started to murmur restlessly. Victors Riyo and Festus were Careers, and had created the Career practice in Two and Four—so that must mean that this woman was tough, despite her ridiculous clothing choices.

The Head Trainer then went over the rules. They were simple. No putting another Tribute in a disadvantage, which included fighting and stealing any items from them. Any sparring was to happen between a Tribute and Trainer. No leaving the room, unless given permission.

"Training's from 8 to 5. Noon's lunch time. For now, just head through the different stations we have; tomorrow's when we start giving you mandatory things to do. Dismissed!"

At the order, the Tributes started to scatter. The Careers stuck together, moving towards the area with weapons—no doubt to show off.

With a shy look around, Madras shuffled towards the empty First Aid station. Might as well start with one of her strengths, if the Careers were going to try and kill all her hopes and her barely-there confidence.

* * *

**Hastiin Tsoh, 14, D11**

The young teen wandered the Training Center, taking in all the stations with a critical eye. He should probably focus on applicable skills, and go to the survival stations. But there were so many different stations to go to, it was just a bit overwhelming…

It also didn't help that he was the youngest Tribute, and the others no doubt had a curious eye peeled on him. Hastiin eventually wandered over to the empty Water Purification station. There, the Trainer happily greeted him.

He already knew the basics of purifying water, considering how one needed to do so constantly to the drinking water of Eleven, if you were poor and couldn't afford the packaged water or filter. Only the rich and Peacekeepers had pure water to drink daily. The rest had to fetch it from the wells and dirty rivers at least weekly.

Ironically, the best water was saved for the crops. **Not** for the workers. Getting diarrhea, worms, and other sicknesses from the tainted public water was common, so he knew the health portion of this station as well.

Hastiin asked for more in-depth information, quietly summarizing all he knew to the trainer. The woman beamed at him, happily moving him onto purifying water using herbs, as well as natural and hand-made purifiers.

Hastiin was so engrossed in the lessons, that he didn't even note someone curiously plopping down next to him, until a hand was thrust in his vision, connected to the girl from Four. Briar, Victor Mags' niece.

"Hello, it's nice to meet you, Hastiin," said the blonde girl, giving him a warm, motherly smile.

The dark-skinned boy gave a slow blink. **This** was the problem of being the youngest Tribute of this year's batch. He was mature and intelligent, but all anyone seemed to note was that he was the youngest. They assume he was weak.

Giving low expectations, and being underestimated, would help him immensely. But the snide, self-centered part of him despised being patronized in such a way—especially considering that he was at least more cautious and intelligent than half the people here, no matter his age.

Briar was waiting expectantly for him to shake her hand and say something, so he tentatively shook it, giving her a curt nod. "You as well, Briar," Hastiin finally answered.

The girl beamed brightly at him, her pretty eyes twinkling. "You seem like a nice enough person, so—Sorry if this is really forwards, it'll probably make you uncomfortable, but…"

Hastiin waited for her to continue, feeling like he knew what she was going to say, and mildly dreading it.

"Well, what you did was just really brave; it's rare for someone your age to be so thoughtful… So I just wondered if you wanted to ally?" she asked.

She looked at him so hopefully and expectantly, and Hastiin suddenly felt that he understood her motives. She wanted company, and someone to mother over.

Well, she'll have to look elsewhere. "I'm not looking for an ally," he stated, giving an awkward cough, pointedly looking away from her in fear of looking into her expressive eyes.

"But…I just thought…" the girl trailed off, sounding disheartened.

Thought what? That since he was young, he needed company? That he needed someone to look after him? To protect him? That it was somehow her **responsibility** to help him?

He was independent and didn't need coddling, damn it. He Volunteered to take his own destiny in his hands, to contribute to society, to create something of his own merits. **Not** so that people would feel sorry for him.

"You'll find someone else to ally with. You're a Victor's niece. You're outgoing," Hastiin stated politely, engrossed with the moss in his hands that he was using to filter a small container of muddied water.

He heard the girl give a displeased hum. "Don't think I'm going to give up on you, Hastiin," she told him, voice full of determination.

"We'll see," he said, glancing at her and forcing a smile on his face. It felt very fake, and he was pretty sure it looked like a grimace. He didn't have much experience with girls, and wasn't very social or charming to begin with, so he probably offended her.

But she seemed to take his social awkwardness with stride. "I'll talk to you later, then," she noted with a genuine smile, getting up from her seat and wandering off to the station where the pair from Five was.

Hastiin gave a sigh, before turning back to the work at the station. After finally learning the advanced things—how to gain water from soil and plants, as well as a filter for moisture in the air—he stood up, stretching his legs.

Let's see which station will give him a good vantage point on the other Tributes…

* * *

**Ashia Henley, 15, D12**

Ashia skittered off to a corner of the room, sat down, and started to watch her fellow Tributes right away.

For some unfathomable reason, she stared off at the Career Pack, watching them perform terrifying feats. Maybe it was because they took up so much attention in the room, going around and showing off the skills they held. Maybe it was because they held a stifling aura of deadliness and intimidation, which urged people to watch them.

Whatever the reason, Ashia was watching, like many of the Tributes. Like the other kids who were lost and clueless, who drifted off and seemed to not know where to even start in this large room, filled to the brim with stations, skills, and weapons.

If anything, the Careers were experienced. They took to everything like…fish to water, or women to expensive jewelry, or a mason to a hammer.

Yes, those were very good metaphors for the Career Districts. Ashia quickly scribbled them down in a corner of her notebook, for later usage and inspiration.

The girl from Two had been the first to jump at the chance of using the weapons in the stations, and was the most furvent of the Careers. The wild-haired girl attacked dummy after dummy with a variety of sharp weapons. Swords, knives, spears—it didn't matter. She held a proficiency and gusto with anything even mildly pointed.

The duo from One—the leaders, no doubt. They held themselves with such certainty and authority, that no one should be mistaken as to who run the Pack—were next to showcase themselves.

The boy picked up some sort of slender sword, and the girl a dagger. They stabbed and sliced at the dummies provided with cold, purposeful movements. Each attack was towards a vital spot; to kill.

Meanwhile, the boy from Two was in the background, smashing dummies and demolishing them with a large club. The boy was like a wrecking ball— and it was, quite frankly, terrifying. He could probably smash her into tiny pieces in one swing.

The Four boy was off in a different area from the others, at the Boxing station. However, it became quickly apparent with every fierce punch that he was most likely strong enough to break bones with his brutal hits.

Almost as an afterthought, Zie started to throw knife after knife at the targets situated in the Knife-Throwing station. A barrage of steel, where every single hit was a bulls-eye.

Ashia grimaced, scribbling a small poem into her notebook in the heavy atmosphere that permeated the room.

"_Wait 'til you're announced,  
We've not yet lost all our graces,  
The hounds will stay in chains,  
Look upon Your Greatness and, _

_She'll send the call out."_

All was still. No one seemed to want to get within 20 feet of the weapons stations.

Well, except Clovis.

The truck-like boy was at the Spears station, unbothered by the display of strength. Actually, he was off ripping apart dummies on his own, as well as managing to chuck a few bulls-eyes at some of the targets.

Great. The boy wasn't even a Career, and he was as terrifying as one.

After five minutes, the Careers converged, whispering amongst themselves for a few seconds, before they walked over to the Ten boy.

Oh **no**.

* * *

**Clovis Essenerus, 17, D10**

He wasn't scared of no damn Careers.

While everyone else scattered off to the useless survival stations when the Careers started to show off, Clovis staid right where he was at the Spears station.

He didn't need no damn fancy title or special snowflake training from a Victor to be strong. He's beaten the shit out of enough people in his life to know that he was already a force to be reckoned with. He could probably beat everyone but the Two guy on strength and size alone. He's not going to pansy out because of their intimidation tactics.

Clovis has intimidated and broken enough people to be an expert at it. The low-key psychological bullshit the Careers were trying to pull didn't even phase him. Despite not really being smart, Clovis was actually **smarter** than that.

It wasn't a surprise when the big bad alliance decided to pop up to talk to him.

Actually, he'd expected it, if only because he wanted a challenge from them. Having them keep away from his threatening and intimidating nature would've been really damn disappointing.

The One boy stepped forwards first. "Hello, I'm Devon. District One," he said smoothly, a charming grin on his face. He looked like the goody two-shoes type, like Ten's Mayor.

"Clovis. Ten," Clovis responded gruffly, ignoring the boy's outstretched hand. "I'm not gonna join yer damn alliance, if that's why yer hear, havin' a lil fuckin' _chit-chat_," he said, giving a leering, confident smile.

The diplomatic boy's smile became strained, and his District partner stepped forwards. "And why not?" she demanded haughtily.

Clovis smirked, as he towered over the girl. "I don't fuckin' ally with no **bitches**," he said snidely.

"**Excuse** me?" she said in a low, threatening voice, eyes becoming cold like chips of ice.

"You heard me loud and clear—unless yer **useless**, on top of bein' a bitch," he said haughtily, baring his teeth in a wolfish grin as the girl snarled at him.

"Take that back," the One boy interjected venemously. Clovis turned to him, their eyes locking from their shared height. Devon's shown with a protective fury of that of a leader.

"Just tellin' the truth, _Devon_," Clovis drawled. "If you didn't have these little **girls** playin' dress-up, I'd join."

"Hey, I'm not little!" Zie interjected petulantly, completely missing the point. Took her long enough to speak up, considering how much Clovis was slandering women.

"Get the fuck out of our faces, _Cowboy_," the girl from One hissed. The Four boy cracked his knuckles as he flexed his biceps, as an underlying threat. The boy from Two's usual stupid smile was off his face, replaced by an oddly serious look.

"Watch yourself," Devon noted darkly. "Because we **will** be killing you in the Bloodbath."

Clovis laughed—cackled, really—in his face. Just to spite the boy with the perfectly gelled hair; their little _King_.

"I'd like to see y'all try—really, I do. You might even give me a **challenge**," he said, giving a savage grin full of bloodlust.

The thought of the Bloodbath—of fighting these apparently trained killers—gave him a rush like no other. Especially killing the bitch from One. The crazy brat from Two would do, too; but the girl who wore her dark hair in braids actually stood up to him. Which is something people—especially girls—rarely did.

Clovis whirled around, and stalked off towards the Hand-to-hand Combat station, an excited grin still on his face. He'd show them why he was feared, why no one went against him.

He'd give them a challenge, so they better damn give him one too.

* * *

**Cerium Morgan, 16, D5**

Cerium couldn't help but shudder, as she had watched the interaction between the Careers and Clovis from Ten. They had spoken very loudly, enough for her to overhear.

But even if they didn't, most of the Tributes would have still been able to pick up their conversation. After all, the room was dead-quiet because of the tension of their altercation.

Still, there was a bright side to all this: at least Clovis didn't join the Careers. That would have made the Careers even more overpowered than they already were, with 5 members. The only other time the Careers had this many members was during Festus Marsh's year.

And hopefully, with the conflict brewing between Clovis and the Careers, that would keep both parties' attention. Perhaps Clovis could even take out a Career, before they killed him.

That'd be the best outcome, aside from all six of them mysteriously dropping dead.

Cerium stared down guitily at her hands, fiddling with the rope she'd been trying to tie a basic knot in. She didn't like thinking of such negative, awful things. The Careers were people too, teenagers like the rest of them…

"_Teenagers that trained themselves to slaughter their fellow teenagers_," she reminded herself a second afterwards. Maybe they didn't deserve compassion, if that's what their life goals were…

"It's good that he didn't join them, I think," Briar muttered from across from her, putting all her focus on the rope in her hands. She was doing quite well in tying an intricate knot.

"Y'know, we probably should _knot_ get _roped_ into that right now," Gavin said, oddly sunny. His joke, however, did it's job in easing the tension and coaxing laughs from both girls.

"I agree. It's better to ignore their little movie drama, so we can learn as many skills as we can," Briar hummed. With lithe fingers, she skillfully started to weave together a net.

Cerium couldn't help but pout, looking down at her limp, sorry excuse for a knot. The blonde girl just made it look so _easy_…But tying knots was harder than she expected.

"_I suppose that's why I chose this station, though. To learn, since I never really knew how to tie knots before_," she thought to herself. With a determined nod, the brunette grabbed another small length of rope, and tried a different knot.

A loud bell suddenly rang throughout the room, causing all the Tributes to pause and look around in confusion.

The woman from the morning—Head Trainer Onika—was standing back up on the raised platform. Jonah from Eight, and Clovis— who had both been sparring with Trainers in Hand-to-hand Combat— were escorted off to the side.

The dark-skinned woman spoke in a loud, clear voice that reached the entire room. "It's noon; time for lunch! Please, leave all your materials behind at the stations they belong to, and come over to the dining area. Pick a table, sit down, and wait to be served."

Time really did fly. It baffled Cerium of how quickly 4 hours passed.

The entire room seemed to suspended in time, because no one moved for a few seconds. "C'mon now—before the food gets cold, kids!" the Head Trainer ordered.

Cerium saw Zie give a shrug and exchange glances with Boom, before the duo surged forwards at a run. All at once, everyone seemed to drift off towards the tables, broken by the awkward spell from the duo's actions.

* * *

**Briar Indigo, 15, D4**

When Briar reached the long tables, she paused, indecisive of where she wanted to sit. She noted that half the Tributes were already in alliances and groups. The Careers were the most obvious, all loudly conversing at a table, but certain District partners were sticking together.

The Asians from Six were sitting opposite each other, with Calisto talking animatedly to Yohan. The Sevens were off in a corner, with the boy getting into Flynn's personal space. The Nine's were together, talking in an undertone to each other while Azrael seemed to awkwardly look around in a paranoid manner. Canteen bounced over to join Ashia, who was shrinking into herself in the corner, babbling very loudy about the Archery station.

Then there was Cerium and Gavin, who Briar had joined off in the Ropes station earlier. They had chatted and got along swimmingly, actually, which gave Briar hope. She didn't get rebuffed, like with Hastiin.

Speaking of Hastiin, he was off in a lone table, watching the other Tributes intently. So was the boy from Three, and the girl from Eleven. Although, Vamiya looked more predatory…

"Hey, Briar! Over here!" a voice called out. Briar gave a small squeak, jolting out of her reverie; the entire time, she had been awkwardly standing off to the side.

Briar gave a relieved grin, as she walked towards Gavin. He was waving her over, Cerium sitting next to him, and both were grinning.

Briar plopped herself in front of the pair. Swiftly, an Avox set down a tray in front of her.

The lunch seemed to be a large bowl of soup, a leg of chicken, and some sort of tart for dessert. On each table, there was a basket of bread, most likely to compliment the soup.

"Thanks for inviting me over," Briar said honestly. "I was having a hard time picking a place to sit at…"

"You're always welcome to join us, Briar," Cerium said warmly.

Gavin nodded his head quickly, his fluffy hair flopping about, like a chicken trying to flap its wings. "Definitely! You're a really nice, happy girl, despite the circumstances. That takes a certain type of strength."

Briar waved them off modestly, her face pink. "Oh, t-this is just how I am, I guess. I'm not super strong, like Lex, or anything…"

"But you've got a lot of skills, from your District's industry," Cerium tried to placate her. "Us, well—Gavin, have you picked up any sciencey things that would help in the Arena? I personally can't think of many…"

Gavin hummed, crossing hims arms and closing his eyes. "Don't mess with nuclear reactors, and don't let any electrical appliances touch water?"

"If the Arena this year is a nuclear power plant, then we're saved," Cerium said sagely, nodding her head.

Gavin burst into laughter, and Briar couldn't help the giggles that escaped her mouth. Cerium grinned at them, before biting into a roll.

The group chatted while they ate lunch, and Briar felt happiness bloom up in her. She felt comfortable with the Fives, as if she was friends with them for a few years instead of a few hours.

"So, where should we go next?" Gavin asked, as the Avoxes swooped in to take away their finished trays. Lunch time seemed to be coming to a close.

"_We_?" Briar asked, hopeful.

The Fives exchanged a confused glance, before turning back to address her. "Uh, yeah…?" Gavin started. "We usually decide which stations to go to, and stuff, and just keep moving around."

"No, I mean…" the blonde trailed off, fidgeting with her coral ring.

Cerium gave her a soft smile in realization. "_We_, as in, our alliance. If you'd like to join us, that is."

"Yes!" Briar exclaimed quickly, face heating in embarrassment from the suddenness of her exclamation. "I mean—of course I'd want to be in your alliance! I was sort of trying to figure out how to ask, earlier, actually…"

Gavin laughed, patting her shoulder. "Well, everything turned out okay, anyways. Welcome to the team!"

"Thank you," Briar said genuinely, feeling so happy she could burst. They were on each other's team.

* * *

**Regina Gabriella 'Ginny' Saunders, 18, D1**

She should've known that some of the other Tributes would be drawn to the Careers for protection, like flies to a rotten corpse.

However, Ginny would've liked it if the Tributes were **competent**, instead of being weak girls who wanted some meat-shields and/or personal fuckboys.

It started just after lunch was over. The other Tributes had been staying away from their alliance—for good reason, considering how they'd showcased their skills. Then, their little spat with Clovis seemed to keep everyone away from both parties.

But no sooner had the Careers left their lunch table and regrouped in the middle of the room, had the other Tributes finally started to approach them.

First came the girl from Eleven, who attached herself to the boys like a leech. "Hello," she purred, batting her eyelashes up at them, "I'm Vamiya. District Eleven. Pleasure to meet you."

Her voice was breathy and sultry, like the operator of a damn phone sex line. It would've made Ginny's lady bits quiver, if the girl wasn't as repugnant as an eel swimming in skunk piss.

Vamiya flirted shamelessly with the confused Boom, uncomfortable Devon, and narcissistic Lex. Ginny edged towards the only other person in the alliance that wasn't being voice-fucked: Zie.

"Do you **see** what the bitch is doing?" Ginny hissed acidly at Zie, watching the scene with her nose wrinkled in disgust.

"Being weird?" Zie guessed innocently, head tilted to the side—a habit she probably picked up from her District partner

"She's trying to slip into our alliance—and the boys' pants. And she **completely** ignored us!" Ginny exclaimed, gesturing to herself and Zie. "Like, **excuse** me, **bitch**? Am I not **hot** enough for you?!"

For some weird reason, she felt mildly offended that there wasn't a creepy whore trying to get into her underwear. Damn straights…

Ginny looked at the scene, watching as Devon started to abscond. "Sorry, this is just—I have a girlfriend, you see," he said awkwardly, a forced smile on his face. He added "And we're going to get married, so I'd rather not cheat on her any time soon" when Vamiya opened her mouth to respond with something slutty.

The brunette disengaged, walking quickly over to Ginny and Zie, giving a small sigh in relief. "She was even more smothering than my mother," he said in an undertone with a wince, still looking very uncomfortable.

"And you're so **big**, Isko," the dark-skinned girl crooned, a gleam in her eyes. "Do you think I could ride you…?"

Boom gave a carefree laugh. "I've piggybacked my younger siblings before, if that's what you mean. Oh, and Zie likes me carrying her around. She's always climbing on me, haha!"

Vamiya's smiled turned strained. "Oh. I see," she bit out, before turning her full attention to Lex instead. She complimented Lex's biceps, groping at them when he flexed them for her. Since she was no longer paying attention to him, Boom gave a shrug and walked towards the rest of the group, a confused smile on his face.

"So, are we going to add her, or…?" Boom asked, curious.

"No!" Devon and Ginny exclaimed together. The two looked at each other, baffled at such finality of the decision without even needing to consult one another.

Before anything else could be said, Lex strolled over with a smirk towards the group, Vamiya attached to his left arm. "So, guys—"

"We're **not** adding skankity slut-slut, here," Ginny deadpanned, giving a cold look to the short girl, who sneered back at her.

"And why not?" Vamiya hissed, eyes narrowed.

"Two words: Kitrina Mordant," Devon intoned, before schooling his face into a convincing apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, but we can't take that chance, you see…"

"If she can even use a weapon in the first place," Ginny scoffed, flipping her braids over her shoulder. "She doesn't seem as competent as Victor Kitrina."

"You should leave while you can, Vamiya," a new, pompous voice intoned from behind the group. The Careers turned around, to see a pretty girl with a smirk on her face. "Before I embarrass you, and take your place."

Ginny could tell that this new girl was bitchy, but at least she put the hoe in her place—so props to her, for that.

"And you are…?" Devon asked politely to the newcomer.

The girl smirked, flipping her long black hair over her shoulder, sticking her upturned nose in the air. "Vulca Spark, District Three. When I'm Victor, I'm turning District Three into a Career District, as it so rightfully deserves."

"So you've Trained?" Boom asked excitedly, beaming at the Three girl.

The girl visibly faltered, before plastering a smug smile on her face. "I'll get you lots of Sponsors— I guarantee it!"

"Not more than **me**, I bet," Vamiya intoned snidely, an impish grin on her face from her perch next to Lex.

"We don't care about that!" Zie interjected, a sharp smile unfurling on her face. "What's more important is if you can kill good or not!"

The wild-haired girl gave a maniacle cackle, twirling a butterfly knife in her hands expertly. As the group warily watched it whirl in her hands, Zie suddenly twirled on her foot and flicked her wrist. The knife whizzed and landed on the bullseye of a training target the farthest away from them—across the room, where the Archery station was.

The boy from Twelve, who was at the station, gave a loud yelp at the sudden appearance of the knife. He stumbled away from it, tripping over his feet and landing in a comical heap. The target he'd been aiming at was riddled with many arrows already.

The group turned back to the two newcomer girls—who both looked peaky at the display Zie showed. Lex winced, and was subtly trying to cover his private bits.

Devon cleared his throat professionally. "I'm afraid that if you have no combat skills, you have no place within the Career alliance," he stated firmly.

Ginny gave a sharp glare at Vulca and Vamiya, who had started to protest at the declaration. "**Leave**. If you approach us again…"

"Then we'll kill you in the Bloodbath!" Zie cackled, twirling another butterfly knife in her hands. From where she got it from, Ginny didn't know— but the effect was immediate. The two outer District girls backed away from the Pack.

Both huffing, Three and Eleven whirled on their heels and stomped off. The group watched them, Ginny feeling smug. Good. Let the stupid bitches annoy the others.

* * *

**Devon Mahone, 18, D1**

Devon was, quite frankly, rather glad that Zie had scared off those girls from them. She could be rather off-putting, when she wanted to…

Lex, however, gave a small sigh as he watched the two girls leave. "Damn, and they were such good eye candy…" he muttered.

Devon didn't even know Lex for more than a few hours, yet he could tell that this was typical Lex behavior.

Ginny rolled her eyes at the youngest male's thoughts. "Of **course** you only wanted them for their looks, and to fawn over you…"

Lex gave a lazy shrug. "It's what I'm used to, from home," he admitted offhandedly, looking slightly uncomfortable. "If it's not broke, don't fix it…Plus, I'm not exactly getting any compliments from you or Zie, here."

The group was silent for a few moments, before Zie randomly commented, "I like your socks."

"Wow, **thanks**," Lex said dryly, while Ginny snickered and Boom chuckled.

"Give me your socks," Zie suddenly demanded.

"What—"

"I'll stab you if you don't."

"Zie, stabbing him while we're in the Capitol is against the rules," Boom reminded her.

"Awwww," Zie pouted, still idly playing with her butterfly knife. "But they're so coooool."

Devon looked down at Lex's socks. They were white, and knee length. They had little black fists and silhouttes of people fighting, and red 'blood' splatters.

Okay, those were actually some pretty cool socks, he admitted to himself. No **wonder** Zie was so fascinated and insistent.

"Geeze, whatever—you can have them," Lex said, voice slightly wavering, as he plopped himself on the ground to remove his shoes.

"WHOOOO!" the crazy girl exclaimed, thrusting both her fists in the air.

"Just give me yours or something," Lex grumbled, peeling off the long socks. She plopped herself down on the ground, ripping off her shoes and socks quickly, throwing the discarded red socks at his face. "HEY!"

Devon couldn't help but laugh; the scene reminded him of the antics of his siblings. Kalia isn't as volatile, and Dorian's much more amiable—but the similarity was still there.

Zie slid on the knee socks excitedly, before hopping up and admiring them on her legs. "Damn, I look hot," she stated proudly.

"I'm sure all the foot fetishists are salivating," Ginny drawled with a smirk.

Lex gave a disgusted snort, surveying Zie's old socks, pinched in his fingers at the edges. "Fuck, these socks are so damn **dirty**…The hell have you even been **doing**, Zie?"

"She likes sliding across the tile in just her socks, like she's skating," Boom answered with an amused grin.

"Yeaaaaah…I think I'll go without any, instead," Lex muttered with a sigh, putting his shoes on his bare feet and standing up. "And **this** is why we could've kept Eleven or Three…"

"Stop complaining, you big baby," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. "Just realize already that I'm not going to start lavishing you with compliments and trying to get in your pants. I only do that with my girlfriend."

Lex gaped at the girl in surprise, and Devon felt amused at the sight. "So you're…"

"A lesbian, yes."

Zie, meanwhile, whispered to Boom. "What's a lesbian?"

"Dunno. Maybe it's a religion?"

"Huh…"

Lex gave an exaggerated sigh. "So there's no one around to tell me that I'm hot…Worst alliance ever," he grumbled.

"Don't worry Lex; **I** think you're hot," Boom chirped, a clueless smile on his face. "Each and every one of you is attractive and amazing, so don't you all worry about your self confidence!"

"…Gee, thanks, Boom," Lex said dryly, as Ginny burst into laughter, clutching her stomach and wheezing. "Not exactly what I was hoping for, though…"

* * *

**Tomoki 'Animal' Seshat, 18, D7**

The young-looking Asian casually strode off to an out-of-the-way station, wanting to wait out all the others clambering for a spot in the Career alliance. The girls from Three and Eleven were hot, but probably only just pretty faces.

The duo from One seemed to be calling the shots, and they looked serious and unlikely to let the girls wheedle their way into their strong alliance. Animal personally wouldn't mind one trying to get in his pants, but they were probably useless as hell when it came to important things, like fighting.

As he surveyed the group intensely, there was a faint rustling close to him. He curiously looked over, finding the Asian girl from Twelve sitting against a wall a few feet away with a notebook open on her lap. She quickly looked down at it, once he caught her staring.

Animal smirked, feeling pleased with the attention. Deciding to have a little fun, he stood and slowly prowled over to where she sat, feet barely making a sound on the aluminum floor. He crouched, face right next to hers, his smirk growing predatory.

"Hey there," he purred in her ear. The girl startled violently, giving a squeak in surprise.

Amused, his eyes flickered down to the sketch the girl had been working on furiously. He blinked, noting smugly that she'd been drawing him in detail.

"Nice drawing. I think you captured my looks well," he noted, giving her charming bedroom eyes.

"It's not finished," she said softly, eyes averted to her lap, fiddling with the pencil in her hands. "And not very good. I think I did better with Madras' sketch."

She gave a frown, and turned a page back, tapping idly on the very professional-looking drawing of the Asian girl that had cried hysterically at the Reaping.

The two pages were full to the brim with sketches and snatches of writing. Poems, stories, even her thoughts on the other Tributes. His eyes roved down the list, but before he could get far, the girl snapped the notebook shut.

"T-That's private," she said quickly, before inching away from their close proximity, face pink.

"Then why'd you show me?" he asked haughtily, giving her a pointed smirk. The edges of her lips tilted down.

"I… guess you're right," she muttered under her breath, twitching slightly. He snickered lightly. This girl was cute, if anything.

"I'm regretting wanting to join the Careers. If I allied with you, I'd get my own personal artist to draw me and write epics about my amazing strength," he noted mischievously, sliding up next to her and pressing his body close to her side, smiling down at her in a hungry manner.

"Oh…" The girl stared blankly at him as she once more tried to gain some personal space. "You're going to join the Careers…?"

"Yes," he stated, puffing his chest out and passing a hand through his hair. "They **obviously** need my help."

"…I think they're getting irritated," she noted, dark eyes roving over to them. "They turned down Vulca and Vamiya, and have been debating for a while now."

He gave an offhanded shrug. "I'll convince them; I'm not weak and useless like the sluts. I actually know how to use a weapon."

"Oh…" she said, sounding almost…wistful? "Good luck, then," she whispered meekly, ducking her head to stare down her notebook, her bangs shielding the top half of her face.

"Thanks babe, but when you have skill, you don't **need** luck," he stated arrogantly, getting to his feet. Along the way, he 'accidentally' placed his hand on her thigh, causing her to twitch and emit another squeak.

As he left, he noted that the girl was scribbling furiously in her notebook, her face pink once more. The sight gave him a boost of confidence, and he casually strode over to the Careers with a feral grin on his face.

* * *

**Terezie 'Zie' Raquelle, 16, D2**

"What do you **mean** I can't join the Career Pack?!" exclaimed the young-looking Asian boy that had accosted them at the Knife-throwing station a minute ago. The Career alliance had been practicing their knife skills, to Zie's insistence, before he showed up.

"Don't you understand English?" Ginny asked sarcastically, before speaking slowly to the short boy. "You. Can't. Join. Us."

Zie cackled at the affronted look on the boy's face, Lex snickering along with her. The Seven boy began to splutter angrily, glaring at them.

"What's wrong, Chinglish?" Ginny asked offhandedly, before pausing and giving a dramatic gasp. "Are you trying to _speak_?"

"I'm fucking **Japanese**, you lesbo **bitch**!" the short boy snarled, pointing a finger in Ginny's face. She batted it away, glaring down coldly at him.

"At least I get more pussy than you do, Bear Boy," the girl said imperiously, flipping her braids over her shoulder. "Who'd want to date you, much less be your **ally**?"

Animal stretched his arm back, hand formed into a fist. With a smirk, Zie flipped the knife in her hand and pointed it towards his neck. On the other side of Animal, Lex dwarfed the boy's fist in his, stopping it in its tracks.

"Leave. You are not wanted in this alliance," Devon stated, in a cold, firm voice. He looked down his nose at the boy, matching Ginny—but with a look of protective fury in his eyes.

The Peacekeepers arrived before Animal could do anything but give one more furious snarl. One wrenched Lex and Animal's hands apart, and two hauled the small boy back.

A fourth Peacekeeper directed Zie's arm away from Animal, and a fifth ripped the knife from her hand. Zie pouted, struggling against their grip. A hand on her shoulder from Boom managed to calm her down and remind her that she almost broke a rule already, though, and breaking rules was a Very Bad Thing. Or so Riyo and every adult said.

Killjoys.

Animal was escorted away by the uniformed men, and the tension left the Pack. Zie still felt disappointed that they took away the weapon from her, though.

"Geeeeeze, they didn't have to take away my favorite knifey," she grumbled.

"I thought you liked anything pointy?" Boom asked, curious.

"I do—but butterfly knives are the coolest and bestest weapon," Zie said, nodding her head seriously. "You can play with them **and** stab with them!"

"Ah."

What a good team they all made!

* * *

**Mattie Wilde, 17, D10**

Mattie didn't feel like speaking with anyone. Being constantly in Clovis' presence had made her more surly and against social interaction than usual.

So ever since the start of Training, she'd plopped herself at the Shelters station, intent on picking up survival skills. She knows that if she messes up—if she didn't learn as much as she could, didn't learn skills that would pertain to the Arena—then it will mean certain death.

Oddly enough, the Shelters station didn't have many practical things with wooden materials. She'd mostly been walked through things like using tarps, using materials around her, or **digging** a shelter.

That meant that the Arena wouldn't have any damn trees. Which meant she couldn't really bank on her experience of hunting out in the woods. Fuck.

Mattie surmised that at least the Arena would be held outside, so she could still use her current skills. But the realization that there wasn't likely going to be trees soured her mood, making her brood during lunch.

After lunch, the redhead decided to hit a station that played on her strengths, just so she felt productive. She plopped herself at the Snare-setting station, intent on refining her knowledge with ropes, to learn new snares.

She didn't think that anyone would really want to come over to spend time with her. She had a temper as hot and flaming as the color of her hair.

So, it was actually surprising when someone joined her at the Snare-setting station.

It was the dark-skinned kid from Eleven, who'd Volunteered. He sat across from her cautiously, still giving her a good amount of space to keep working, and spoke in low tones with the trainer to not disturb her. How oddly considerate.

The two worked in silence for a few minutes. Then suddenly there was a _snap!_.

Mattie looked up quickly at the sudden noise, noting that the boy had swiftly built a trap and set it off. At the foot of the trap was one of the realistic stuffed squirrels provided, and it was tangled up in a complicated criss-crossing of wires.

Mattie slowed down working on her snares, also observing the ones the kid made. Each one was effective, but non-lethal.

Incapacitation and protection. Almost as if the kid had experience with keeping people away from places, or sabotage…

There was more to this kid than what met the eye.

He was interesting and wasn't annoying. Surprisingly good company, actually.

"Yer weird, but ballsy," she noted aloud, causing the boy to twitch and look up at her with guarded eyes.

"Never met such a small, serious kid like you. And what you did, back there, at yer Reapin'? Ballsy as fuck, 'specially the speech. Props to ya, kid," she said with small grin, giving a nod at him.

It was almost sad that such a young kid had felt the need to Volunteer, just so he could have an actual **choice** when it came to the Hunger Games. That he didn't want to live in uncertainty every year, just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

She wasn't a very soft or mushy person, but damn it, that made her feel _bad_ for the kid. But also oddly proud. He had her respect.

"Thanks," he muttered awkwardly after a few seconds.

She stuck her hand out in front of him to keep his attention diverted back to her. "Mattie. D10."

He took it hesitantly. "Hastiin. D11."

"You, me, ally," she stated, getting straight to the point. "Yer not annoyin' as fuck, and pretty good with traps. I like ya, kid."

"I…Would rather go it alone," he muttered cautiously, and she frowned peevishly.

"Bullshit. Yer already a target from being the littlest one here. C'mon, Hastiin, I'm givin' you a good offer, here," she stated, starting to feel irritated at being turned down.

"It's a good offer, but I'd still rather go it alone," he stated, and she glared at him. The **nerve** of this kid…! "You shouldn't waste your time on me if you're just doing it for my age, anyways."

"Don't talk to me like you fuckin' know me, kid," she growled in warning, her blood boiling. The little shit started to look wary from her obvious anger.

"You're strong; one of the strongest girls, aside from the Careers. And most likely as popular as the Victor's niece. You can have **any** pick of the outer District Tributes," he intoned, causing her to blink in surprise at how sure he stated it.

"Don't waste it on me, just because you feel sorry for me, or have some moral obligation to do so. I can take care of myself just fine, thanks; I'm the youngest here, but that doesn't mean I'm **useless**," he deadpanned.

The two had a stare-off with one another, neither wanting to back down. But finally, Mattie broke out into an amused smirk.

"Fine, I'll believe you," she stated. "But you sure that goin' alone won't bite you in the ass later?"

Hastiin looked down at his snare in obvious thought, before raising his serious gaze back up at her. "You're never truly alone, in the Hunger Games," he stated wisely, in an even voice.

Mattie blinked in surprised, thoroughly impressed with the level of maturity he held. He almost sounded like a grown man. A leader, even.

She gave a shrug. "If you change yer mind, the offer's still open."

"Thanks, I suppose," he stated, standing up. He gave her a curt nod, before going off to another station.

Mattie decided to shift around in her seat, looking across the stations curiously. What Hastiin had said earlier had struck a chord with her, about how she could essentially have any pick of an ally for the Outliers.

Taz had mentioned to her that morning that she was gaining lots of Sponsorship requests, from that epic save she did at the Chariot Rides. She was one of the most popular Tributes, he'd noted proudly.

He'd also stressed that she should keep an eye peeled for someone she thought would make a good ally. More than half the Victors had had at least one ally, after all.

Plus, with big threats like the Career alliance, Clovis, other alliances, and muttations…It was just much more strategically sound to have an ally. Strength in numbers, even if they were an unpredictable variable in her plans.

She'd **never** join the Careers, though, if they wanted her. They were too deadly and uncontrolled.

Any Outer District kid with the Careers was put on the chopping block more often than not, and usually the first to die when they turned on one another. Not to mention that this year's bunch seemed like a fusion of morons and holier-than-thou personas, which was an irritating as fuck combination.

She had some time to think about it, though. For now, she could try to keep picking up survival skills, and keep an eye out for anyone that was promising.

* * *

**Jonah Abagnale, 16, D8**

"So, how was Training…?" Woof asked expectantly, as Jonah and Madras trudged into Eight's Suite.

"It fucking sucked," Jonah groaned tiredly, arching his back to work the kinks out of his body. "Worse than _school_."

And considering the fact that he had weird, annoying fangirls constantly hounding him back in Eight, that was saying something.

Training was just tiring as all hell. It was long, it was tedious, and it lasted even more than a regular school day, to top it all off. He was tired and hungry, and his head hurt from cramming as much life-saving survival information as he could.

This was worse than final exams. At least back in school, if you failed you didn't **die**.

Just emotionally. And spiritually.

* * *

Confirmed alliances this chapter:

The Career Pack: D1F Ginny Saunders (18), D1M Devon Mahone (18), D2F Zie Raquelle (16), D2M Boom Barrius (18), and D4M Lex Calder (16)

Babe Trio: D5F Cerium Morgan (16), D5M Gavin Cox (18), and D4F Briar Indigo (15)

6teens: D6F Calisto Cadbury (16) and D6M Yohan Freesia (16)


End file.
